


Heart of a Hunter - Act III

by MuchAmused



Series: Heart of a Hunter Saga [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Doctor!Reader, Doctor/Patient, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, In it for the long haul, Medical, Medical Procedures, MuchAmused, MuchAmusedAboutNothing on Tumblr, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Protective Dean Winchester, Reader is a Doctor, Series, Sexy Times, Slow Burn, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 80,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuchAmused/pseuds/MuchAmused
Summary: You had known treating Dean Winchester in your Emergency Room was going to be anything but boring the minute you’d realized who the hunter and his brother were. You’d felt a connection with Dean from the beginning, and you hadn’t hesitated to call him for help when your brother had gone missing on a hunt a few months later, an act that dredged up memories of your raised-by-hunters childhood. Now you were asking another favor of the Winchesters, one that would forever alter the course of your days.





	1. Chapter 1

 

The weekly phone calls from Dean were something you looked forward to. He called every Sunday, just like clockwork.

"Hey, Doc," Dean said when you answered.

"Hey, Winchester," you greeted him, smiling and shaking your head.

The calls always started out like this, but today instead of Dean telling you what crazy monster he and Sam were after, and you sharing the latest emergency room excitement, Dean was asking what mile marker you were at on the highway.

"The last sign said Lebanon was only ten miles out. That was about three miles back," you told him.

"Awesome. You're almost here."

"See you in a few," you told him.

"I'll be here."

You weren't lost on the fact that Dean had made a tradition of calling you every Sunday, just like he knew your brother had done when he was alive. Mostly the calls were brief, but it was enough just to know that he was checking up on you. And you liked knowing he and Sam were okay.

You'd meant to tell him several times how much you appreciated still having a call to look forward to every week, but just the idea of trying to explain to him what it meant to you was enough to bring tears to your eyes.

You just hoped this - what you were doing right now - wasn't going to change things.

It had been several long days of driving. You'd stopped at motels along the way, just for four or five hours of sleep each time, and had been driving otherwise. The fast food and energy drinks were getting old, and you were so relieved when you pulled into Lebanon.

Dean was waiting in the bunker's garage with the large garage door open so you could pull right in. He was casually leaning against a post, hands in his jeans pockets, like maybe he'd been comfortably waiting like that for more than just a few minutes.

You parked your truck in one of the open spaces and cut the engine, taking a breath, preparing for ... you didn't know what, exactly.

You were asking a lot of the brothers by moving in, and although they hadn't given you any reason to feel uncomfortable, you didn't want to make things weird.

You just really needed a win.

When you opened the truck door and climbed out Dean smiled warmly at you, opening his arms as he approached. He looked just like he always did; every hair in place, a flannel shirt layered over a black tee, and just enough scruff on his face to add to the whole rugged look he had going for him.

You stepped toward him, feeling his strong arms come around you. You squeezed him back, feeling his chin come to rest on the top of your head as he held you against his chest for a moment in perfectly comfortable silence. The sting of tears threatened your eyes and you blinked them back, surprised. You hadn’t expected to get emotional.

There was just something about Dean holding you tight, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat against your cheek….

You couldn't even remember the last time you'd been engulfed in a hug like that.

"Welcome home," Dean said, and standing there in the clutches of his embrace it felt like you just might be. Then he put his hands on your shoulders and held you back a bit, studying your face. "Damn, it's good to see you." His green eyes crinkled a little at the corners when he smiled.

You returned the gesture, feeling ten pounds lighter. "You, too."

“God, it feels like forever.”

“It has been,” you agreed. “Six months is a long time.”

“Too damn long.” He gazed at you for a moment longer before giving you one more affectionate squeeze and releasing you. "I'll help you unload your stuff in a few. But first let me show you your room," he said, putting a hand on the small of your back and leading you inside.

 

*****

 

You sat on the bed a little later that evening, music playing softly from the Bluetooth speaker on the dresser as you gazed around at your new room. You hadn't brought a lot with you to the bunker - just the necessities - but your bedding, a nice plush rug, some family photos, and clothes - half of them being scrubs - were enough to make the room feel like your own.

It had only taken a couple of hours to unpack, and something about this minimalist lifestyle was definitely appealing. You could already feel your spirits lifting.

_I'm doing the right thing_ , you reminded yourself.

If you were being completely honest you knew exactly why you hadn’t hesitated to call Sam as you’d driven away from the hospital last week, the contents of your locker in a box riding shotgun.

Your brother had been gone for six months to the day, and for the first time since his death you had some clarity and perspective.

Your co-workers at the hospital would have argued that the opposite was true. They were certain you weren't dealing with the grief, that you would eventually come to your senses and come back to your position as an ER doctor, but despite knowing some of them for years, there was something they didn't know about you.

You had been raised in a family of hunters.

Your parents had been gone for twelve years now. You still remembered the hunter's funeral you and your brother had given them after they'd been overwhelmed by the sheer size of a nest of vampires they were working to eliminate.

Your brother had spent the next year killing only vampires to avenge them, which had done little to make either of you feel better about your loss. In fact, it had just meant many sleepless nights on your part, worrying that you were going to lose him, too.

You'd received that dreaded phone call six months ago that led to you calling in a favor to Sam and Dean and meeting them in Iowa. Despite your best group effort, the end result was heartbreaking grief, but for the first time in a long time, you knew that what you were doing at the hospital wasn't enough.

That Sunday it was you who made a call.

Sam had answered on the first ring, and graciously welcomed you when you'd told him you’d left your job and asked if you could move in. Dean had called you back just as soon as Sam explained the situation to him, throwing his support behind your decision and asking when you'd be there. Crazy how the span of a few days can change the direction your life is headed, for good or for bad.

A knock on the bedroom door just then pulled you from your thoughts. You took a breath and called, "Come in."

The door opened and Dean walked in, smiling as he glanced around the room.

"It smells good in here," Dean mused. "How do girls do that? You've been here all of two hours and it smells like a girl already."

You chuckled and said, "Well, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

He absent-mindedly picked up the stethoscope that was lying on your dresser and turned it over in his hands. You watched in amusement as he fiddled with the earpieces and put them in his ears, lifting the bell to his chest. His eyes snapped up and he gave you an impressed nod at hearing his heartbeat through the instrument. You couldn't help but grin. It was a lot like watching a toddler with a plastic doctor playset.

"I know it's not much," he said as his eyes swept the room again.

"It's perfect," you assured him. "Really."

"You all settled?"

"Yeah." You nodded. "Aside from the medical supplies I had at the house that I thought might come in handy, there's just one more box, and it can wait until tomorrow." You gestured to the box on the floor with a nod and Dean put your stethoscope down and took a step forward, picking up one of the books that sat in the box.

His eyes scanned the cover and the synopsis on the back. "Is this what I think it is?"

You nodded. "One of my mom's," you told him. "I can't believe you remembered that."

"I may have been concussed, but I haven't forgotten anything about that hospital stay."

"That bad, huh?"

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Not all of it."

"I pull them out and read them when I want to feel close to her, " you said, shrugging. "You probably think that's crazy."

"Not even a little bit. I used to do that with my dad's journal." When he looked up at you his smile reached all the way to his eyes. "Come on," he said, holding the door.

Dean gestured for you to follow him from your new bedroom out into the hall, and that was when you smelled something delicious coming from the bunker’s kitchen.

"You guys didn't make dinner, did you?" you said in disbelief.

"Maybe we did," Dean said with a shrug. "Hope you're hungry."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You spend time getting settled in your new home at the bunker. You surprise yourself by opening up to Sam and Dean.

"I'm starving," you admitted. "Did you hear my stomach growling from the other room?"

"We weren't exactly sure what you liked," Sam said, grinning as he set down a plate of freshly diced tomatoes on the table as you and Dean walked in. "I hope tacos are okay."

"Tacos are perfect," you said, grinning and sitting at the table.

There was already water in a pitcher on the table, but Dean brought you each a beer, as well.

"We're celebrating," Dean said casually, with that air of quiet confidence he has that makes it hard to question him. You wondered if you'd ever get used to that. It was so different than the way doctors act, which was the only comparison your tired brain could muster up.

"We don't get a lot of reasons to celebrate around here," Sam added with a grin as he set more food down. "Gotta give us this one."

You smiled back at him. "Who am I to look a gift taco in the mouth?"

Gift taco? You either needed some sleep or something stronger than the beer Dean had set in front of you.

Dinner was great, though. Sam and Dean made you feel right at home, their banter causing you to laugh out loud more than once. The memory of the last time you'd seen them was marred by your brother's death, but being here with them now felt comfortable and right.

Dean lost rock/paper/scissors, which meant he ended up begrudgingly doing the dishes after you ate, and it fell to Sam to give you the official tour of the bunker.

He showed you around, giving you a mini Men of Letters history lesson as you walked. Just listening to Sam talk about all of it, and everything he and Dean we're still doing to make a difference, gave you an ever deeper sense of belonging, and hope.

Sam strategically ended the tour in the infirmary. He leaned against the door frame as you walked in and glanced around. "It's all yours," he said as you skimmed your fingers along the top of the old exam table. "It's not much, but I figure we can do an overhaul, upgrade it for you, if you like.”

"It’s awesome," you told him as you gazed around the room. There were single beds in the corners, with privacy curtains, and an old-fashioned scale against the wall. You opened a cupboard to rummage through the basic supplies that were already stocked. "It's like stepping into an old movie or something, and I like the idea of having a place I can set up just the way I like right from the beginning. And knowing you two, it'll get some use.”

Sam smiled as he watched you. "Dean and I both want you to make yourself right at home here. You know that, right?"

You glanced over your shoulder at him, smiling. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"Well, I can't promise we'll be the easiest of roommates, but I know you can hold your own."

"Damn right," you told him, grinning.

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, "Can I ask you something?"

You sensed his tone shift and knew the conversation had just grown serious. "Of course.”

"I don't want to pry," he started.

"You're wondering why I would just up and leave the hospital?" you asked, saving him from having to ask what you knew was on his mind.

He eyed you in concern and shrugged. "You're a hell of a doctor, and I don't have to tell you what this life is like. I just wondered what made you decide to do it."

You leaned against the vintage exam table, facing him. "I went to medical school because I wanted to help. Knowing everything that's out there, I thought I could do something to counter the bad if I could save lives.... And for a while, that was enough."

You paused and Sam just waited patiently for you to find the right words.

"Then my brother died, and I realized that there are lots of doctors helping people, but the knowledge I had about the real dangers in this world meant I could take things one level deeper." You waved a hand around, gesturing at the infirmary, and met Sam's intense gaze. "If no one is helping the hunters, the ones who are fighting all that evil, then what's the point, you know?"

Sam nodded, his brow furrowing.

"I guess I don't think of it as a coincidence that I got to know you and Dean. I can't think of a better way to fight the good fight than to help you guys and patch you up in between victories."

Sam straightened as you approached him, his hand going to your shoulder with an empathetic touch. "I'm glad you're here. We both are."

"Me, too."

 

                                                 *****

 

You found yourself sitting in the library, tired from the trip, but not quite ready for sleep, which never came easily these days.

"You okay?" Dean asked, taking the seat next to you at the table after having cleaned up from dinner. "There's more where this came from." He held up his glass of whiskey in offering.

You blinked, glanced at him and smiled. "Thanks. I'm good."

"You sure? You looked a million miles away just now."

"I guess I was." You expected him to pry, but he just gave you an understanding nod, took a sip of whiskey from his glass and set it on the table. The two of you sat like that in silence for a moment before you broke it.

"I remember your dad," you said, meeting his gaze to study his reaction.

His eyes narrowed, his chest puffing a little with a breath. "You ... you knew my dad?"

"My parents knew John," you clarified. "Small community of hunters, you know. Everyone sort of knows everyone, I guess. I really only remember meeting him the one time." You noticed Dean was still sitting back casually in his chair, but his jaw had hardened, a sudden attentiveness in his eyes now as you spoke. "He stopped by our place one night," you began. "Mom insisted he stay for dinner. He and my dad sat in the study for a few hours after the meal, pouring over some lore for a case he'd caught wind of. He talked about you and Sam while we ate, though," you added. "He had a picture of you both in his wallet. He was proud of you. That much was clear."

Dean's gaze dropped to the floor and you couldn't decipher his expression. You hoped he wasn't upset that you'd never shared this before. It had never felt like the right time until now.

"They were still in the study discussing demons when Mom made me go to bed," you continued. "If he crashed at our place ‘til morning he was gone before I woke up."

Dean gave a nod that was barely perceptible. You found yourself reaching out, covering his hand with yours. He looked up at you then and you met his gaze.

"My mom grew up in a home a lot like yours," he said. "There's a really long story in there about how I witnessed firsthand what that was like for her, what it must have been like for you." He rubbed his thumb over your hand, squeezing gently. "You would have liked her." He grinned at the thought and cocked his head to one side, adding, "She would have loved you."

You smiled at him, and somewhere in the depths of those green eyes you found that Dean Winchester might understand you in ways you didn't even understand yourself anymore. The thought was both fascinating and nerve-wracking, and you didn't get to dwell on it long before Sam walked in and you both casually returned your hands to your own laps.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Sam said as he joined you at the table. "None of us could have imagined the day we showed up at your emergency room nine months ago that we'd all be sitting together like this tonight."

Dean took a drink of his whiskey, winked at you and said, "I hate hospitals, but I'm glad I ended up in yours."

"You're welcome," Sam stated. "Dragging your ass to the car and trying to explain away your incessant rambling about the case? Not exactly my idea of a good time."

"You were a bit of a mess," you said to Dean, smiling and shaking your head.

"He was a jerk and took it out on all the nurses," Sam clarified.

"Was not," Dean countered.

"Oh, you kind of were," you added with a laugh, to which Dean raised a surprised eyebrow at you calling him out. "It happens with head injuries," you continued. "The nurses thought that's all it was, until you started sweet talking me." You gave him a slow smile and he almost looked indignant as Sam chuckled.

"I was trying to sweet talk my way out of that hospital bed," he said.

You grinned. "I remember. And, luck of the draw, you happened to get the only doctor who knew your rattling on about werewolves wasn't just the concussion talking."

"We were lucky," Sam said, recalling the event. "I had no idea he was going to give away all our secrets the minute a pretty doctor walked in."

"Best decision I ever made while concussed," Dean said matter-of-factly. He smirked and raised his glass a few inches, saying, "Brought us here, didn't it?"

You glanced at him, meeting those green eyes, and said, "Yes it did."

His gaze dropped for a moment and then came back. You locked eyes with him for a beat before saying, "Think I'll call it a night, guys." You stood and bent, kissing Dean on the forehead.

"You had a long trip," Sam agreed. "I bet you're exhausted."

"I'll sleep good tonight," you said, trying to convince yourself more than anything. You turned to Sam next, kissing him on the forehead as well.

"Do you need anything?" Dean asked as you straightened.

You shook your head. "Thanks again," you told them both, hoping they understood the weight the words carried as they left your mouth.

You changed your clothes, climbed into bed, and something like content settled over you as you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep in your new home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first full day at the bunker leads to a hilarious game of "Never have I ever ."

It took a few seconds to get oriented when you awoke the next morning in a room that wasn’t yet familiar.

I'm in the bunker. Sam and Dean are here. This is home now.

The thought caused a smile to stretch across your lips, a good night's sleep bringing clarity. You showered, dried your hair and dressed for the day, realizing that you might have been a little overzealous in your attempt to pack light as you stood at your closet and considered your options.

You settled on a tank top and jeans and made a mental note to do some online shopping later. You grabbed a breakfast bar from a cupboard in the mess hall that probably belonged to Sam, and poured yourself a cup of coffee from the pot someone had made fresh that morning. It was still hot.

Dean was sitting in the library with his 1911 in pieces on the table, a gun cleaning kit in front of him, his cup of coffee half-empty nearby.

"Good morning," you greeted him.

"Hey. Sleep okay?" Dean asked as you plopped down in a chair next to him.

"Yeah, actually. You?"

"Good as ever." He eyed the breakfast bar you were holding in one hand and added, “Hey, I can whip up something for breakfast.”

“And deprive my tastebuds of what is sure to be the equivalent of a gourmet meal?” you teased as you waived the breakfast bar in front of him.

He blinked at you. “God, for a second I thought you were serious. I was honestly starting to doubt whether or not this whole letting you move in thing was a good idea.” A playful smile spread across his lips. “For real though. I can cook. Just wasn’t sure what time you’d be up. Kind of expected you to sleep in a little after the long drive yesterday, but you’re apparently an early riser.”

“You’re in the middle of something,” you told him, gesturing to the guns and the cleaning equipment he had spread out before him. “I’m good. Really. And I could whip up my own breakfast if I wanted.”

You set the breakfast bar down and picked up the second pistol on the table, a 9mm. You dropped the magazine from the gun, opening the chamber to check that it was empty. It wasn't until you started disassembling the pistol that you felt Dean's heated gaze.

"What?" you asked, a smile tugging at your mouth as you flipped the lever and removed the slide, setting it on the table gently. "Do you have a thing about not letting anyone else touch your guns?"

Dean blinked, incredulous. He wet his lips with his tongue and said, "No."

You took that as permission to keep going and removed the recoil, working at taking the barrel off. God, it felt great to have something to do with your hands. From the corner of your eye you watched Dean give you what can only be described as an impressed raise of the eyebrows before he grabbed the little bottle of gun oil. You asked him about reloading and got him talking ammo loads, which made for comfortable conversation as you worked.

Sam found you there twenty minutes later, still field stripping the guns. He was dressed in a t-shirt and athletic shorts, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

"How was your run?" you asked him.

"Great," he answered after taking a long drink of water.

"I may or may not have stolen this protein bar from your stash," you told him, gesturing at the now empty wrapper.

Sam grinned. "Next time at least try to hide the evidence."

"Uh-uh." You shook your head. "Won't be a next time. Tasted like cardboard."

Sam laughed. "Hey now, you can't raid my stash and then diss it."

"I believe she just did," Dean piped in matter-of-factly.

You grinned and gave Sam an unapologetic shrug, and he flicked water at you with his water bottle as payback.

"Guns here, Sammy," Dean chided, pretending to be annoyed.

You crumpled the wrapper and tossed it at Sam, but it fell short. In one sweeping motion he took a long stride, picked it up and nailed you dead center in the chest as he announced he was going to go shower.

"Meet us in the range and we'll settle this like grown-ups," you called after Sam, laughing a little. Dean was eyeing you again. Hell if you knew what that expression on his face meant. "Unless you're busy...." you said slowly to him as an afterthought.

"Promise to outshoot his ass?" Dean gestured with a jerk of his head in the direction Sam had gone.

"I promise to outshoot yours," you quipped.

Dean narrowed his eyes and you glimpsed the slightest hint of a devilish smile. "You're on, Doc," he agreed, replacing the fully-loaded magazine in his gun with a satisfying click.

 

                                             *****

 

"Three bullets each," you stated as the three of you prepared the magazines for your guns. "And why don't we make this interesting.... Never have I ever?"

"Isn't that a drinking game?" Dean asked. "I think we're taking the wrong kind of shots."

"Scared a girl is going to outshoot you?" You raised an eyebrow at him and his intense gaze lingered on you while he considered your words.

Then he cocked his head and smirked. "Bring it on, sweetheart."

You tried not to read into the fact that he'd just called you sweetheart. You clicked your magazine into place and then slid a round into the chamber. "Like I said, three bullets each. Tie goes to the best shot."

"I'll go first," Dean offered. "Never have I ever ... pulled the world's lamest all-nighter studying."

"Is that the best you can do?" Sam said to his brother. "Mocking higher education?"

Dean just grinned defiantly. You and Sam shared a glance before you begrudgingly took your stance, aimed and shot. Sam's gun fired almost immediately after.

"My turn," Sam insisted. "Never have I ever ... voted for a reality show contestant."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" Dean said gruffly as he stepped up to his lane.

You snickered and moved into to your lane as well, firing a round at your target a few seconds behind Dean.

"Okay boys," you said. "Never have I ever … been arrested."

Dean sucked in air through his teeth. "That was low," he said as you laughed. He and Sam both fired a round.

"That's two a piece," you called out.

"I'm up," Dean mused. He rubbed his face with his hand in thought. He was smirking when his gaze met yours. "Never have I ever made out with a doctor."

Sam did a little one-shouldered shrug and said, "I'm out," before stepping up to fire off his last shot.

Dean looked almost as impressed as he did surprised, and then he turned his expectant gaze on you.

"We're not listing items on your bucket list, Winchester," you teased.

"Seriously?" he asked when you didn't move to take a shot.

You shook your head. "I don't date co-workers."

"C'mon. Not even once?"

"There was a med student," you said. "Which doesn't count," you added to stop Dean in his tracks as he was raising an accusing finger at you. "He wasn't a doctor. And I learned my lesson that time and didn't do it again."

Dean sighed in resignation.

"Tie breaker it is," Sam announced. "I guess you both get to take your last shot and we'll bring the targets in. I'll be the judge."

"Don't hold back, Winchester," you told Dean as you planted your feet and raised your gun. "I want to enjoy it when I kick your ass, as promised." You took aim and squeezed the trigger, enjoying the feel of the recoil as the bullet left the chamber.

There was a few seconds pause before Dean's gun fired to your left. Sam brought the targets in and scrutinized them. Dean's expression was overly confident, and he didn't even bother looking at the targets until Sam declared you the winner.

"What?" Dean said, taking them from Sam to judge for himself.

"She's got you beat," Sam stated, defending his position.

Dean's face twisted up as he studied the groupings on both targets. "Alright, alright. Lucky shot," he admitted, raising his hands up.

You grinned and said, "We'll save the rematch for when you're a little more on your game."

Sam chuckled out loud and Dean gave him the obligatory older brother glare. "That's enough from the peanut gallery."

Sam sighed, composing himself, and you handed Dean the broom nearby, saying, "Loser sweeps the empties," before heading for the door.

Sam grinned at Dean and said, "I think you've met your match."

Dean pushed the broom handle at Sam's chest. "I seem to remember you losing first."

You made your way to the infirmary, a smile plastered on your face. You felt lighter than you had in months. Hell, maybe years. And it wasn't just because you'd put some lead in a target. You unpacked the couple of boxes of medical supplies you'd brought with you. It was basic stuff, mostly first aid supplies, a spare stethoscope you'd used in medical school, and a few other things you couldn't justify leaving behind in the storage unit you'd put most of your belongings in.

After that you washed the bedding on the single beds that were situated in the corners of the infirmary. You were pretty sure the guys had never bothered, but wanted things to be clean if and when you needed them.

You spent time in the library in between washing, drying and replacing the bedding. You couldn't get enough of the Men of Letters history. The bunker was full of sigils and symbols, and the nerd in you wanted to fully understand and appreciate them if you were going to be seeing them everyday.

Sam brought you a sandwich at lunch and ate in the library with you as he did some research. He answered your questions and you were grateful for the chance to get to know him better. He told you about his days at Stanford, which led to him telling you about Jessica.

You understood that deep-rooted desire to escape the life and carve out a normal one. You hadn't realized you had so much in common with Sam. You'd just been lucky enough to succeed in ways Sam never had. And yet, you'd both wound up in the same situation in the end. You guessed there really was no escape from it.

Not really.

Sam seemed surprised to have divulged so much in one sitting, but you got the idea he just wasn't used to having anyone to talk about it with. You were honored he trusted you enough to tell you.

The two of you had come a long way from when you'd first met and Sam was wary to let you patch up the damage the Kitsune had done to his back.

After lunch you left Sam to his research and went into the kitchen to make another sandwich. This one was for Dean. He'd been in the garage for the last couple of hours, and you hadn't seen him come in for food yet. He looked up from under Baby's hood when he heard your footsteps on the concrete.

"Condolence prize," you offered, holding out the plate with the sandwich and a soda can.

"Hey, look at that." He gave you a big smile and accepted the plate and drink. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He set them down and walked over to the sink to wash his hands first. "I can see why you love it so much out here," you said as you gazed around at the large garage. "It's pretty much a man's dream come true. Not that just any man would appreciate it."

Dean narrowed his eyes in your direction. "Careful, sweetheart," he said as he picked up the plate again. "You keep talking like that, bringing me food, and I might get the idea you like having me around."

You sat down on one of the partitions that separated a couple of motorcycles and watched as he took a large bite of the sandwich. "Funny, the way you've been hiding out in here I might have thought I was throwing you for a loop just by being here."

"I'm not hiding," he said after he swallowed. "I'm relaxing."

"Is that so?"

"You know, some people do yoga. I do this. Sam does the research, and I work on the car. It's our thing. And now that we have two nerds in the bunker, I won't have to crack a book. It's awesome." You chuckled and rolled your eyes. Dean took another bite, swallowed, and followed it with a sip of soda before he said, "Can I ask you something?"

You shrugged. "Shoot."

"Why'd you call Sam?" he began. "When you called to see if you could move in. Why call Sam and not me?"

You took a deep breath and puffed your cheeks out, letting it go slowly. "Honestly?" You gazed at Dean, who had stopped eating while he waited for your answer. "I figured you'd say yes."

Dean wrinkled his brow. "And you wanted a no?"

"Actually, I really wanted a yes. But moving in here is sort of a big deal, and I wanted to be sure you were both okay with it before I did. I asked Sam to give me his answer before saying anything to you, because I didn't want you influencing his decision."

Dean nodded, along with a one-shoulder shrug. "Maybe I was hiding out today," he admitted. "Just a little," he added at your jokingly accusing look. "I just thought you should have some time with Sam. You know? Bond over geeky things and all that. He hasn't had as much time with you."

"How profoundly generous of you, Winchester," you teased.

Dean smirked, a sort of ‘You're welcome,’ and you smiled. "Sam's great, though. We had a good talk."

Dean nodded, took a drink of the soda and swallowed. "I'm glad he said yes."

You looked sideways at him and said, "Me, too."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam finds a case that looks like it may be a Rugaru, Dean is hesitant to leave you behind to hunt the monster.

You had coffee and pancakes with the guys in the mess hall the next morning before you excused yourself to shower. Once you were ready for the day you went searching for them, hearing their voices coming from the bunker’s library. You'd just turned the corner to the library as Sam was rambling off a summarized list of clues from an article on his laptop.

“Says here the first missing person behaved erratically prior to the disappearance. His best friend says he's been a strict vegetarian for fifteen years, but recently started eating lots of raw meat.” Sam gave a little huff of amusement. “Kind of surprised the reporter included that detail in the article, actually. Pretty random if you’re a reporter.”

“Just means they've got jack to go on,” Dean stated, leaning back a little in his chair. 

“A Rugaru?” Your comment was more of a statement than a question, the way your voice cut through the tension that suddenly filled the air. 

Sam's head snapped up and Dean startled, surprised by your sudden appearance. You got the impression they still weren't used to having a third person around all the time. 

“Shit,” Sam breathed, a look of pained guilt washing his features. “Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't-”

“Don't be sorry,” you assured him. The last thing you wanted was for them to feel the need to tiptoe around anything with you. Even cases involving the type of creature that had killed your brother. Hell, especially then. “You guys should go. Take that thing out. Stop it from hurting anyone else.”

Dean studied your face, and you met his gaze and held it. “We can call someone else to take care of it,” he said, a note of finality in his tone. 

“Don't even think about it,” you admonished. “I didn't come here to stop you from saving people. I came to help.” Dean didn't look convinced yet, so you crossed your arms and added, “You're wasting precious driving time.”

Sam furrowed his brow but got to his feet, looking to his brother for confirmation. Dean was staring at his hands now, teeth pulling against his bottom lip in worry, but he didn't budge. 

“Grab your bags. I'll pack you both a lunch for the road and meet you in the garage in ten.” With that you made your way to the kitchen to make sandwiches. 

Reluctant or not, Dean was waiting with Sam in the garage ten minutes later when you walked in with a small cooler full of sandwiches and snacks. Sam thanked you and took it off your hands, setting it alongside the green, vintage cooler for drinks in the backseat of the car. 

Dean was leaning against the driver's side door, one thumb hooked in the pocket of his jeans, keys in the other hand. 

You shrugged at him and said, “Better hit the road. You've got a long drive.”

Dean gave a small nod. “You sure about this? We don't have to go.”

“Yes. You do.” You smiled for him, and it wasn't forced. Or sad. “Just come back in one piece. And don't worry about me while you're gone. I’m just going to get settled.”

Dean hesitated for a beat before he moved to open the door and slide in behind the wheel. He turned the engine over as Sam climbed in. You bent down a little and Dean rolled the window down. 

“Kick it’s ass for me. For him....”

“You got it.” He winked at you, but the gesture was lacking all the playfulness Dean usually threw behind it. 

You stepped back and watched them pull out, standing there until the large garage door closed completely, sealing out the last few inches of daylight toward the bottom as it did. 

You hadn't even been tempted to ask to ride along. Your throat felt tight at just the idea of facing a Rugaru just yet. You hoped that would pass eventually. You really wanted to be going along on hunts, but maybe you weren’t quite ready. Not to face a Ruguru, anyway. 

You hit the makeshift gym in the bunker and did some cardio. You liked to stay in shape, but the long hours at the hospital didn't make keeping a good workout routine easy.

You knew hunting would require you to be at the top of your game physically. Preparing in that way was something you could start doing now. Plus, focusing on your workout didn't leave much room for your mind to wander with worry about Sam and Dean. You spent the rest of the day exploring the bunker, taking your time to get to know each of the common rooms, and making yourself a nice salad for lunch, and pasta for dinner.

Dean called as they checked into a motel around midnight to let you know they'd made it to the town okay. 

You'd wished them luck and tried to act like the thought of them tracking a Rugaru didn't give you anxiety. You spent the next hour wishing you could sleep, but instead stressing about Sam and Dean. 

You knew they were more than capable. They were badass hunters. But your brother had been a badass hunter, too. Eventually your heart rate had leveled out and sleep had pulled you under into a thoughtless bliss.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You anxiously wait for Sam and Dean to return home from the hunt.

The hunt for the Rugaru lasted three long days after the guys made it to town. It was two in the morning on the fourth day when your phone beeped with a text from Dean. 

Job is over. Headed home. 

You sighed in relief and typed a response. You're both okay? 

We're good. 

You typed Drive safe and dropped your phone on the bed, pulling the covers up over you again. 

You slept for another couple of hours, enjoying the best sleep you'd had since they'd left on the hunt.

You’d spent a lot of time in the library in those days they'd been gone. You took breaks to workout, shower, eat, sleep, and to take walks outside for fresh air, but studying lore was a great way to pass the time. You were good at studying and research. You'd have struggled through med. school immensely if you hadn't learned to develop good study habits. 

Even so, the Winchesters had years of deeply - ingrained knowledge on you. You wanted to absorb all the information you could in order to provide useful insights for cases. 

You didn't feel half bad when you woke again. A shower made you feel even more refreshed. Your body hadn't forgotten how to function on minimal sleep. You supposed that would still come in handy.

You got ready for the day and took the truck into town. At your first stop you paid for a mailbox at one of the private mail centers and filled out the necessary paperwork to have all of your mail forwarded there.

A second stop at a bank and you had an account set up so you could have the rent from your old house deposited by the property management group you'd hired to handle the matter. 

These were just loose ends, but they felt like big steps in a direction toward this new life you'd chosen with the Winchesters. It felt right.

You grabbed some lunch in town, stopped for fuel and stocked up on groceries before heading back home to the bunker. 

Home. 

It already felt that way.

You turned the radio up and rolled a window down, thinking about how your brother may not have anticipated this life for you, but also knowing he'd be proud and happy. Because you were both of those things again. 

 

*************

 

It was early evening when the guys got home. 

“In here,” you hollered in response to Sam calling your name. 

A moment later he and Dean came around the corner into the kitchen where you were putting the lid back on a crock pot. 

“Something smells amazing,” Sam observed, coming to peek over your shoulder at the stew that was bubbling inside. “Where did you find a crock pot?”

“Bought it today,” you said as he pulled you close in a little side hug. You wrapped your arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze before turning to inspect him better. 

“I'm good,” he assured you. “No battle wounds to speak of.”

Dean was just finishing up at the sink where he had washed his hands. He hadn't spoken a word since coming in. 

“What about you, big guy?” you said to him. “Want some stew?”

“I'm good.” But you didn't miss his furrowed brow and the agitation in his eyes as he reached for a hand towel. 

“Did the bottomless pit that is Dean Winchester seriously just turn down food?”

Dean didn't miss a beat. “Not hungry.”

You put your hand on your hip and eyed him closely. “What's wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he grumbled. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Dean.”

He sighed, turning to face you, and his eyes softened a bit. So did the grit in his voice when he spoke again. “I'm fine. Really.”

You knew something was up, but you weren't going to push it. You waited until Dean left the room before elbowing Sam and saying, “I’ll get the holy water if you'll hold him down.”

Sam chuckled at your joke. “He's just mad because he messed the car up.”

Ah. That explained it, all right.

“How bad is it?” you asked, pulling bowls from the cupboard and handing one to Sam so he could dish out his food. 

“Nothing he can't fix. Hell, nothing he hasn't fixed before.”

You and Sam ate dinner at the table together while he told you about the hunt. After an hour, when Dean still hadn't shown up to declare he'd changed his mind about dinner, you put the leftover stew in the fridge and grabbed two glasses, along with Dean's favorite amber liquid before going to the garage in search of him. 

He was right where you expected to find him, tucked up under the car on a creeper. 

You didn't say anything as you approached, choosing to sit nearby on the cement partition between two motorcycles. You placed both glasses next to you, pouring whiskey in each one. Then you set the bottle down and took a sip from one glass as you quietly surveyed the obvious damage to Baby’s front bumper. 

The driver's side headlight was broken. Missing was actually a better word for it. Hardly any broken shards of it were left. Also, the front fender had caved in somewhat on impact. 

Dean knew you were there, but you were content to be supportive from the sidelines if that’s what he needed. It wasn't ten minutes later that he seemed to give up on whatever he was fiddling with under the car. He slid out from under the front end and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and meeting your gaze. 

You tipped your glass to him with a sympathetic smile, watching as he took a deep breath and got to his feet, coming over to sit next to you. 

He gripped the glass of whiskey waiting for him with grease coated fingers, took a swig, and looked straight ahead at his car while he swallowed. You sat like that for a few moments in silence that wasn't uncomfortable, despite the fact that he was obviously in a mood. 

“It was my fault….” He gave an exasperated sigh. “I was a little too close to the car when he came at me, and I dodged last second and he smashed right into her. Worst part is that it barely stunned the sonofabitch…. Goddammit. I can't believe I-”

“Dodged a hit that would have otherwise done that kind of damage to you?” you teased, giving voice to his frustration in a way that made the air feel lighter. 

“Well, when you put it like that.” 

“I'm good, Winchester, but I can't promise I can save your ass if you go all Humpty Dumpty on me. I, for one, am glad the Batmobile took the hit this time.”

Dean sighed, grabbing a nearby rag to wipe the grease from his hands. “I suppose you're right.”

“I usually am.”

Grumpy Dean was almost as endearing as happy Dean. You weren't totally fooled by the front, though. Dean hated seeing his Baby with dings and dents. Sure. But the act of fixing her up would be therapeutic. He'd enjoy the process, enjoy fixing and creating and restoring with his hands. You understood that desire all too well. It was the exact opposite of hunting, which involved so much destroying, extinguishing. 

You gestured to the Impala with a nod. “She belonged to your dad?”

He sighed. “Yeah…. A lifetime ago. If he's watching, he's pissed.” He took another drink from his glass and wet his lips with his tongue. 

You nodded. “I know a little something about driving around with a metaphorical ghost.” Dean followed your gaze to your brother's pickup truck parked across the garage. “The kind you can salt and burn are easier on the heart.” You bumped his arm with your elbow, a sad smile playing on your lips as you took another sip.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your medical skills get put to the test for the first time since moving in to the bunker.

“You've had your nose in a bunch of books since you moved in,” Dean said as he peered sideways at you from under Baby's hood.

“I like books,” you retorted. “Medical school would have sucked otherwise. Actually, it still kinda did.” Dean grinned and shook his head a little. “What's that saying,” you mused. “… Something about how a library is like a hospital for the mind.”

Dean chuckled. “Now you're just making shit up.”

You feigned insult. “I swear, I read that somewhere.”

“Wait, let me guess … in a library.” He smirked and pointed to a wrench on the little rolling cart with tools on it nearby.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Also, I'm a bit rusty. Other than Mom’s novels I haven't read a lore book in years,” you told him as you passed him the wrench. “My brother would casually talk about his work, but he never went into too much detail. I think he was afraid it would just make me worry more, like he was protecting me somehow by keeping it from me.”

“Can't blame him there,” Dean said as he made an adjustment under Baby's hood. He'd spent the better part of the last week in the garage trying to repair the damage the car had suffered on the last hunt. You'd been studying, shooting in the range, and working out with Sam. And, on occasion, keeping Dean company in the garage while he worked.

You smiled sadly at the dull ache in your chest that still accompanied every other thought of your brother. It was an improvement that you'd reached a point where your heart only broke half of the time you pictured his face, or imagined the sound of his voice.

“Hey, so about Crocottas,” you said, trying to distract yourself from the pain. “I know they can mimic human voices, but what do they look like?”

The tug at the corner of Dean's lips that stretched into a half smile at your question did more to put you at ease than you cared to admit to yourself, but he shook his head and ducked back under the hood of his car, saying, “They can take human form, too. Makes them as tricky as shape-shifters.”

You bit your lip, letting the information sink in. “That figures…. Oh, and I was reading last night about Alphas.”

Dean let out a humorless chuckle as he worked. “Douchebags.”

“You - you've actually met one?”

“Unfortunately.”

You chewed on that a second. “You know, one of these days I'm going to stop being surprised when you tell me things like that, Winchester.”

Dean paused in his manipulating the wrench long enough to lean his head over and gaze at you. “God, I hope that's not true.”

You wondered for a second if that was because he was worried about tainting you with the hunting life. “Why is that?” you pressed.

Dean's eyes were smiling. “Because that'll be the day you get bored with all my stories.”

 

**********

 

Sam wasn't quite acting like himself at dinner that night, and Dean called him out on it halfway through the meal.

“You've hardly said a word tonight, man. Everything okay?”

Sam rubbed his temples and waved a dismissive hand at his brother.

You studied him for a second before saying, "You look flushed, Sam." You got to your feet and felt his forehead and his face with a hand.

"Actually, you sort of look like hell," Dean added as he gazed at his brother.

"I feel like hell," Sam admitted.

"Stay put." You headed for the infirmary, retrieving the digital thermometer before returning to the kitchen. You carded the fingers of your left hand through Sam's hair, brushing it back so you could slide the sensor of the thermometer across his forehead. It beeped and you glanced at the reading. "101.9," you read outloud.

Sam didn't really look surprised. You set the thermometer down and placed your hands on either side of his throat, feeling his glands for swelling. "Are you having any other symptoms? Sore throat? Congestion?"

"So far just a headache."

"If I had a head like that I'd be surprised if it didn't ache," Dean said, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam ignored his brother and looked up at you. “I'll be fine. Just need to sleep it off.”

“Promise you'll holler if you need anything,” you told him as he got to his feet. “And stay hydrated. Take a bottle of water with you.” Sam forced a little smile for you, and you gave his arm a squeeze as he passed by. “Get some rest.”

“I will.”

“Night, bitch,” Dean said.

“G'night, jerk,” Sam returned.

Teasing aside, you could see the concern in Dean's eyes as his brother headed to bed early.

“I've got this,” Dean said, standing to clear the table.

“Fantastic,” you told him. “I've got a bubble bath calling to me.”

Dean's mouth hitched up in a half-smile. “God, you're such a girl.”

You just smiled. “Well, that would explain the boobs.”

He chuckled as you headed for the hallway, making your way to the bathroom to draw the bath.

The hot water, mixed with some Epsom salts, did wonders to relieve the soreness in your muscles that was a constant companion since you'd doubled down on your workouts. You’d been careful not to injure yourself, rotating between muscle groups to allow for recovery time, but you liked the burn that came from pushing your body. Liked knowing you were getting stronger. Even so, the lavender scented salts and bubbles you'd added to the bath were a luxury you'd happily indulge in.

*****

Your phone ringing woke you up in the middle of the night, and you scrambled to grab it from the nightstand, seeing Sam's name on the screen.

You were on your feet as you answered, already heading for the door. "Sam?" you asked as you stepped into the hallway. "What's wrong?"

Sam's voice was weak when he replied. "I ... I don't feel right."

"I'm coming," you said, hurrying faster down the hall now. You heard a noise like he'd dropped his phone, and when you called out his name again he didn't respond. You were running past Dean's room just then and paused long enough to open his door, finding him already getting to his feet at the sound of your concerned voice in the hall.

"It's Sam," you told him, hurrying ahead of him to Sam's room.

You didn't know what you expected to find when you threw open Sam's door, but it certainly wasn't the sight of him lying on the floor next to his bed unconscious.

You and Dean called his name simultaneously as you dropped to the floor next to him. You could tell just by a touch that he was still feverish, and now there was a sheen of sweat on his skin.

"Sammy," Dean was saying, panic lacing his voice as he shook Sam's shoulder. "Hey Sammy, come on. Wake up."

"He's burning up," you said. "Help me get him back onto the bed."

Dean nodded resolutely and traded places with you. You took Sam's legs and Dean gripped him from behind, locking his hands together after reaching from under Sam's armpits and hoisting the brunt of his weight on the count of three.

Once Sam was back on the bed Dean stayed with him while you made a mad dash for the infirmary, retrieving a few things.

Sam had been conscious just a moment ago, and as you hurried down the hall to his room you ran through the list of possible explanations as to how he'd gotten so sick so fast. You mentally kicked yourself for not checking on him before you'd turned in, but you’d wanted to let him rest and you couldn't have known....

Dean had his palm on Sam's forehead when you returned. He dropped his hand to his lap, giving you a pained look as he watched you set down a little bag you'd brought back with you.

“Can you help me get his shirt off of him?” you asked as you rummaged in the bag.

Dean grabbed the pocket knife on Sam’s dresser and carefully, but efficiently, began cutting the material of Sam’s t-shirt and tossing the large pieces of fabric aside.

You brushed Sam's hair away from his face and swiped the sensor of the digital thermometer across his forehead until you heard the beep.

"103.2," you read aloud.

“Shit…. He doesn't go down sick often,” Dean said with a sigh as he pulled the last of Sam’s t-shirt out from under him and dropped it on the floor. “But when he does he tends to go down hard.”

 

You clipped a little pulse oximeter to one of Sam's fingers and watched for the reading. His pulse was 87, and you were confident that was quite high for Sam, but the fever alone could explain the increase. His oxygen levels were on the low side, but you didn't have access to an oxygen tank.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck with a hand while you put on your stethoscope and listened to Sam's chest.

You heard the sound of friction almost instantly, and narrowed down the sign to two possibilities. You suspected it was being caused by pleural rubbing, but needed to rule out the more serious condition. You moved through all of the lung auscultation points, left to right, top to bottom, trying to get the clearest picture of what you were dealing with.

The worry lines on Dean's face deepened the longer you listened to Sam's chest, but you were focused on making certain that the rubbing you were hearing was coming from Sam's lungs and not the protective sac-like tissue around his heart, which would be an entirely different problem, and an urgent one.

It was sometimes difficult to distinguish between the two conditions, and without an ultrasound and blood work, your stethoscope was the only tool at your disposal in the bunker to figure it out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Dean take care of a very sick Sam. Dean is grateful to have you there to do more for Sam than he could have done alone.

You spent a few minutes studying the sound of Sam's heartbeat, but with him unconscious it was even harder to diagnose. Dean let out an audible sigh when you finally removed your stethoscope and met his gaze.

"There's friction when he breathes from inflammation and extra fluid in the lining around his lungs," you explained.

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he watched Sam for a moment before looking back to you. “What - what can we do?”

“Treat it with medications. Worst case scenario I may have to aspirate some of the extra fluid with a needle, but I'm hoping it doesn't come to that.”

Dean swore under his breath. “And I just thought he had a cold."

"Started out as a cold, but it seems to be quickly developing into a respiratory infection." Sam's hair was damp with sweat as you brushed it away from his face, letting your hand linger on his cheek. "The fever is his body's way of trying to burn it off, but it's higher than I'd like," you said. "I'll give him something to bring it down."

Dean chewed his bottom lip. You reached over to cover his hand with your own then, prompting him to meet your gaze. "He'll be okay," you assured him. "I'll take good care of him."

"I know you will," Dean said without hesitation. And you thought you saw his shoulders relax a little as he spoke. "What can I do to help?"

You gave him a small smile and took a breath to collect your thoughts. "I want to start an IV to give him the medication and keep him hydrated. I'll grab what I need if you'll get some damp towels and meet me back here. Not too cold," you added. "Room temperature will do fine. It's the evaporation of the water on his skin that will cool him off and make him more comfortable until the medications kick in."

Dean nodded and got to his feet, gesturing for you to go through the door ahead of him.

You gathered more supplies in the infirmary, bringing them back with you to Sam's room. You had minimal supplies, ones you'd managed to bring with you from home, and a few others you'd ordered online after seeing that you had an infirmary to work with, and just how out of date the equipment was. You regretted not ordering a few more things now.

When you got back you saw that Dean had already rolled up a damp cloth and placed it on Sam's forehead. He added more damp cloths to Sam's underarms and behind his neck while you disinfected a spot on the back of Sam's left hand and skillfully slid a needle into a vein there.

A few moments later you had a saline drip attached to Sam's IV that was infused with a fever reducer and an antibiotic to combat the infection. Without an IV stand, you had to rig a coat stand to hold the bag of fluids at the side of the bed.

You checked Sam's temperature again, which still hovered just below 103 degrees. Then you wrapped a cuff around his bicep and inflated it, slipping the bell of your stethoscope just below the cuff against the inside of his elbow. His blood pressure came in a little high, which wasn't overly concerning.

Dean was re-wetting the cloth for Sam's forehead. He wrung it out over the bowl of water before folding and gently laying it on Sam's brow with all the tender care of a worried older brother. An adoring smile tugged at your lips as you watched him from the other side of Sam's bed.

Sam's groan pulled your attention away and Dean got to his feet, setting the bowl of water aside as you leaned forward.

"Sam? Can you hear me?" you asked.

"Sammy?" Dean added, lending his voice to yours in hopes of coaxing Sam awake.

Sam groaned again and his eyelids fluttered open.

"Hey," you said softly, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're okay. We've got you." Sam blinked a few times, his chest heaving as he became more and more aware. "Sam, this is important. I need to know if your neck hurts or feels stiff."

Sam cleared his throat and said, "No." That ruled out Meningitis, but talking made him cough, which you noticed brought a grimace of pain to his features.

"Try to relax," you encouraged him while you put your stethoscope back on. "Does it hurt when you breathe?" Sam clenched his teeth, nodding as you lifted the bell to his chest. “I know it sucks, but do your best to take a breath and hold it for me.”

Sam did as you asked, holding his breath just long enough to confirm that the rubbing you heard was in the lining of his lungs and not his heart, and that your diagnosis of pleurisy was spot on.

"You've got a respiratory infection," you told him as you removed the stethoscope. "I'm giving you medicine in an IV to help clear it up." you told him. "I’ll add a pain reliever, too."

Sam nodded, which caused the damp cloth on his forehead to slide off to the side.

Dean caught it, putting it in place again. "You're in good hands, Sammy," Dean was telling him. "You just take it easy. She'll have you feeling better in no time."

"I'm going to get that pain reliever," you told Dean as you set your stethoscope on the nightstand. Sam looked like he was having to fight just to keep his eyes open. You took Sam's hand and squeezed softly, saying, "It's okay to go to sleep, Sam. Just rest. We've got you."

Sam nodded, swallowed hard and closed his eyes before you slipped back out into the hall. Running back and forth to the infirmary wasn't ideal, but neither was trying to move Sam. You took what you needed from the supply cupboards, hoping you'd actually gotten everything this time, and headed back for Sam's room.

Sam was already sleeping when you walked back in, albeit a fever-induced, fitful sleep. You injected the pain medication into his IV port and then sat down next to Dean on the edge of the bed.

Dean hooked his arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him so he could rest his chin on the top of your head. You sat like that for a moment before he released you. He bumped your shoulder with his so you'd look up at him.

"Thanks," he said. His statement was as sincere as it was simple.

"No need to thank me."

"Like hell there's not," he added. "If you weren't here I'd be dragging his heavy ass into a bathtub of cool water. I've done it before."

The thought broke your heart, reaffirming that you could do some good here. You smiled at Dean and said, "You're welcome."

Dean brought a couple of chairs into Sam's room for the two of you sit on, and then disappeared again, stating that he'd be right back. You were covering Sam with a light sheet up to his waist when Dean returned with two mugs of coffee. You sat down in one of the chairs, accepting a mug from him as he sat next to you.

"You really can go get some sleep," you told him before taking a sip.

Dean gave you an indignant look followed by the smallest hint of a smile. "Between your doctor mode and my big brother mode, neither of us is gonna be sleeping tonight. At least not until his fever breaks."

You weren't at all surprised. You'd known that would be his response, but you'd wanted to offer him the chance anyway. Dean could probably see it on your face, and he made a fist and bumped your knee with it before sipping from his own coffee.

Sam grumbled in his sleep. You hated that he was so miserable. He was mumbling mostly incoherent ramblings, some in Latin, and tossing and turning and restless.

Dean continued to re-wet the damp cloths and place them on Sam's hot skin while you monitored his temperature and vitals.

It was almost an hour before Sam's fever broke. You sat on the edge of the bed, running the thermometer's sensor across his forehead again as Dean watched.

"It's working," you whispered. "His temperature is 99.1."

Dean gave a grateful sigh, meeting your eyes and nodding his thanks to you. You got to your feet, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder as you walked past him to go around the bed. You switched out the now empty bag of saline for a fresh one, attaching it to Sam's IV.

Half an hour later Sam was uttering Dean's name over and over in his sleep. Dean moved to the bed, sitting next to his brother and leaning back against the headboard.

"Shhhh…. It's okay, Sammy. I'm right here." Dean assured him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.. "Get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

Sam didn't seem to wake up, but he did quiet down. His breathing evened out and he slept a little more peacefully after that. You knew the medications you'd given him were working, but you sensed Dean's close proximity also played a role in Sam's ability to rest comfortably.

No wonder Dean hadn't wanted to leave his younger brother's side. He'd known Sam would need him. It had been just the two of them for so long....

And unlike most people who take their closest friends and family for granted, the Winchesters knew exactly how lucky they were to still have each other.

You smiled as you watched Dean close his eyes, eventually letting his head fall back against the headboard, exhaustion winning out. And a few minutes later he was sleeping, too. You watched over them both for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long night of caring for Sam, Dean makes sure you get some much needed rest and some food.

Sam slept fairly peacefully the second half of the night with Dean snoozing upright against the headboard at his side. You changed Sam's IV again in the morning and quietly gathered yours and Dean's coffee cups, heading for the kitchen. You'd just finished washing them and setting them aside to dry when Dean joined you.

"Hey," he said, his voice groggy with sleep. "I'm sorry about last night. I must have dozed off."

"Don't be," you said, turning to face him. "I'm glad you got some rest. Both of you."

Either he was too groggy to mask the worry that lingered in his eyes for Sam, or he’d decided he didn’t have to hide it from you. So you did the only thing that made sense, stepping forward to wrap your arms around his middle. He hesitated only briefly in surprise before encircling you with his strong arms, hugging you back fiercely, and you knew you’d been right about him needing this.

Because even Dean Winchester needed hugs, dammit.

You held onto him for a moment in comfortable silence, feeling his chin come to rest on your head. When you pulled back you patted his chest and said, “Come on, let's go grab your brother his next dose of meds.”

Dean went with you to the infirmary where you retrieved more pain reliever and antibiotic. He carried everything back for you to Sam's room. When you opened the door Sam was still sleeping, so the two of you crept inside. You added the medications through his IV port while Dean gathered up the cloths and the bowl of water from last night and took them away.

Sam stirred then and opened his eyes, saying your name softly.

"Didn't mean to wake you," you told him as you sat on the edge of the bed.

Sam raised a hand to rub his eyes and paused, hand in mid-air, inspecting the IV tubing taped into place on the back of it. He furrowed his brow.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" you asked.

He’d moved on to gazing at the pulse ox clip on his finger now. "Honestly, it's all a little vague."

You brushed his hair back from his forehead, resting your palm there briefly, and at the same time watching the motion of his chest rising and falling. He was breathing a little shallow. "How bad does it hurt when you breathe?"

Sam considered you for a beat. "About a 6, but I can handle it."

"I just gave you some more pain reliever, and I've got you on medication to clear up the infection in the lining of your lungs. You'll be feeling better in no time."

Sam nodded. "Thank you."

You held your hand out for the pulse ox clip and Sam removed it, handing it to you.

Dean walked in again just then and said, "Morning, Sammy."

Sam gave him a half smile and said, "And you two thought you were just going to have a boring night, involving lots of sleeping."

"Oh come on, we don't do boring around here. You hungry?" Dean asked, looking to you and Sam in turn.

"Sure," Sam answered.

You gave a shrug in agreement. You were hungry. You'd been up for hours, after all.

"Breakfast, coming right up." Dean winked and turned on his heel.

"Think he'll bring it to me in bed?" Sam asked, mostly joking.

"I think he just might," you said with a grin.

Sam eyed the IV bag, saying, “Is that a coat rack?”

“Let's just say the list of supplies I need to order is growing exponentially.” You handed Sam his TV remote and left him to rest, joining Dean in the kitchen. He was cracking eggs over a bowl and he'd already put on a pot of coffee. "Need any help?"

"Nah. I got this." He glanced sideways at you and furrowed his brow. "Really. I got this. You must be exhausted. I know you didn't sleep. Sit for a bit. Relax."

"Okay, maybe for a minute." You walked into the other room and sank down onto the couch, leaning against the large armrest like a pillow. You tucked your legs up to the side and closed your eyes. Just until breakfast is ready, you thought as you felt the mind-numbing bliss of sleep pull you under.

 

*****

 

You woke with a start, sitting up in a hurry. You had no sense of how long you'd been sleeping, but someone had covered you with a warm blanket.

Dean.

You got to your feet, stretched, and walked into the mess hall. Dean was nowhere to be found, so you continued on into the war room. He was sitting at the table in the center, an aged book in hand. He glanced up as you walked in.

"Rise and shine," he said, giving you a small smile.  
"How long was I out?"

He glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Three hours and some change." Then, seeing the shocked expression on your face, he added, "Come on, considering the night you had that's barely a cat nap."

You ran your hand through your hair and said, "How's Sam?"

"He ate the scrambled eggs and toast I took him," Dean said, marking the spot in the book he was reading with a slip of paper and closing it. "He was asleep, too, last I checked. I made you a plate to warm up when you woke, but it's lunch now. How does a BLT sound?"

"Like heaven. I'm starving," you admitted. "And I need a shower."

"I'll have a sandwich waiting for you when you're done." Dean got to his feet and mussed your hair playfully as he passed by.

"You're the best," you called after him.

"Don't I know it," he answered back.

The hot shower was revitalizing, and afterward you changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. You put some product in your hair so it would be manageable when it air dried, and headed to Sam's room.

You opened the door a crack and saw that he was indeed sleeping. He seemed peaceful; his chest was rising and falling with his deep breathing, a good sign that the pain meds were helping. You let him be and met Dean in the mess hall.

The smell of freshly cooked bacon made your stomach grumble as you walked in. He was just placing a slice of tomato on the sandwich he'd prepared, topping it off with the second slice of bread.

"That looks amazing," you said as you sat down at the table and Dean slid the plate in front of you. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

You took a bite and chewed, closing your eyes for a second while you enjoyed the taste. You swallowed, looked up at Dean to find him watching you with an amused sort of look on his face while he worked on making another sandwich.

"God, Winchester. You're hired."

He gave a cocky little shrug. “One of these days you're going to stop being so surprised at my skills in the kitchen.”

You took another bite, chewed, and met his gaze, finding that he looked more concerned now than anything. "What?" you asked, wondering if you had food on your face.

"You know," he began. "You're so good at taking care of everyone else you get caught up in it and forget to eat or sleep."

"Job hazard," you told him with a shrug after swallowing a bite.

"So tell me, who takes care of the doctor in this scenario?"

"I'd say you're doing a pretty good job of that."

The smallest hint of a smile played on his lips at that. "If I'm in charge, you're in trouble."

"Not if this sandwich is any indication," you told him as he brought his own sandwich over and joined you at the table. "Besides, don't pretend you aren't a natural-born caretaker." Dean furrowed his brow at you while he took a bite. "That's right, Winchester. You're not fooling anyone. I'm onto you." You mimicked keeping your eyes on him by turning two fingers in his direction, making him grin as he chewed.

After lunch the two of you headed for Sam's room. You quietly opened his bedroom door and peeked inside. Sam was sitting up in bed looking at his phone.

"Hey," he said, looking up. "Come on in."

"How are you feeling?" you asked as you moved to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge.

"I'll live," Sam said with a smile.

"Let's take a listen," you told him as you picked up your stethoscope from the nightstand where you'd left it.

Dean set aside the plate with the BLT he'd made for Sam and watched as you listened to Sam's chest intently while he did his best to breathe deep for you. You moved from front to back, listening to a full breath cycle at each auscultation point. You could still hear friction, but he seemed to be breathing a little easier in general in spite of it.

"How's the pain?" you asked as you removed the stethoscope.

"Maybe a 4."

You nodded and eyed the almost empty IV bag hanging from the stand. "I need you breathing nice and deep so pneumonia doesn't set in, so you're staying on pain meds until this clears up, but I think we can lose this IV. An oral antibiotic will work fine at this point."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam agreed.

You disconnected the tubing from the port in the back of his hand and gently slid the needle out, placing a bandage over the spot.

"Hungry?" Dean asked as Sam eyed the plate he'd brought in.

"Yeah, actually."

Dean handed the plate over and you told Sam, "Eat up. The sooner you get something in your stomach the sooner you can swallow some pills."

You left the guys alone and made your way to the infirmary to retrieve the medications. Then you stopped off at the mess hall for some water. Sam had eaten the entire sandwich by the time you got back.

"He's got his appetite back," Dean teased when you raised your eyebrows and gave Sam an impressed smile.

He took the pills and said, "I've got to get out of this bed or I'll go crazy."

"I don't blame you. Just take it easy," you said. "Not too much at once."

He nodded. "I'll settle for a shower and a movie in the other room."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean scares you after returning from a hunt. You examine him to find the cause but wind up with more questions than answers.

The next several weeks flew by. You'd expected life in the bunker to get a little monotonous, especially compared to the hectic schedule you'd kept at the hospital. Instead you found that you rather liked sleeping at night, compared to the swing shift schedule you were used to.

Sam’s respiratory infection had cleared up completely by day five with a course of antibiotics, and by the middle of the next week he was back to hunting.

You liked helping the guys search for cases. The research was almost like therapy. You'd lose yourself in the library in the old books for hours.

Sam and Dean took two cases those first few weeks, and you'd immersed yourself in the lore on both occasions, but stayed behind as they'd gone out to meet the problems head-on. You wanted to be helpful if they needed answers, and although a lot of the basic information had stayed with you over the years, you were rusty on details. Mostly you weren't sure you were quite ready to be going on hunts yet. The guys must have sensed this, because they didn't ask you to join them.

You also occupied your time getting better acquainted with the infirmary. Although you loved the old fashioned stuff in the bunker, you felt out of place in the infirmary as long as everything was so outdated, not to mention ill-equipped to handle an emergency, which, knowing the Winchesters, was bound to happen sooner or later. You ordered a new portable EKG machine online, and a bunch of first aid supplies to start, and had them rush shipped to you.

The second of the two cases had the guys taking down a witch only a couple of towns over. When they'd returned home after a two day hunt, you found Sam in need of stitches in his side after the witch had gotten a piece of him with an old blade right before Dean had put a witch-killing-bullet in her in the early hours just that morning.

Dean had cleaned and bandaged up the wound at the car before they'd hit the road, but the blade the witch had used had cut deep, through several layers of tissue, and in the end you'd convinced Sam to let you sew him up.

Dean stood in the back of the infirmary, watching while you thoroughly irrigated the cut to reduce the chance of infection, and then placed fifteen stitches to close it.

You used a large bandage over the area to keep it clean, instructing Sam to keep the area dry.

"Thank you," Sam said as he stood up. "I'm going to get cleaned up."

"Take it easy," you encouraged as you turned to wash your hands in the sink. "I'll check on you in a bit." Sam's blood swirled down the drain until your hands were clean again. You made a mental note to stock up on nitrile gloves as you dried off, glimpsing from the corner of your eye as Dean peeled his second layer off and lowered himself onto the exam table.

You turned in a hurry, afraid you'd been so focused on Sam's injuries that you'd left Dean completely hanging when he apparently needed help, too.

"Dean, what's going on?" you asked, rushing over to him. You began searching at the skin beneath the ripped and bloodied parts of his t-shirt for injuries.

"It's Sam's," he assured you as you fussed over him. "I'm not bleeding. At least, I don't think I am."

You sighed, momentarily relieved. "We'll, that's something at least."

He met your eyes, but only briefly. You watched his palm move to his chest, his fingers rubbing the spot over his heart. You instinctively reached for your stethoscope, putting it on. "Are you having chest pain?"

Dean blinked. "I don’t ... not exactly."

You frowned at him, thinking that wasn't really any kind of answer. "Lose the shirt, Winchester."

He hesitated, eyes wide, but only for a beat. Then he tugged his tattered t-shirt over his head and dropped it on the table next to him. You gently rested a hand on his back, encouraging him to lean forward so you could listen.

The moment the diaphragm of your stethoscope met his chest your ears were flooded with the sound of his heart jack-rabbiting. Your mind raced to match it as you listened intently, grasping at straws to explain the tachycardia.

You flipped the stethoscope to the bell side and moved over a few inches to his mitral valve, but the speed alone made it hard to distinguish much more than the sound of the valves slamming open and shut.

The sheer force of the muscle contracting caused the bell of your stethoscope to tremble in time with his heartbeat, vibrating against the skin on his chest.

His breathing didn't sound shallow or labored, which only added to your confusion. You hung your stethoscope around your neck and pulled your new EKG cart over, quickly grabbing three electrode patches and positioning them one at a time on his chest with skilled precision.

Dean looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just sat in uncharacteristic silence as you attached the lead wires, turned the machine on, and studied the readout. His heart rate was 128 beats per minute, which might not have been concerning if he'd just hopped off a treadmill. You noticed several premature beats in his heart rhythm, as well.

"Alright Winchester, your heart is trying to thump out of your chest," you said. "And I have no idea what's causing it." It skipped a beat then, as if on cue, and Dean closed his eyes, his chest heaving with a breath. You leaned in, taking his face in your hands. "Dean, talk to me," you urged.

"My heart ... " he said softly without opening his eyes, raising his hand to his chest again before going silent.

"What? What is it?" You brushed a thumb across the days-old stubble on his cheek, and he opened his eyes again, clearing his throat.

"I - I don't know how to say it…. " His voice trailed off again.

"Dean, the witches you fought…. Is there a spell? Did they hit you with something? Did one of them get away?" The more you considered the option the more it seemed the most likely cause of his tachycardia. "It's a spell, right? That's the only thing that would explain your elevated heart rate. How long have you been having palpitations?" You wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his bicep and inflated it.

Dean shook his head, blinking to bring his vision back into focus. "Listen to me, okay? I'm not cursed." His gravelly voice was stern, causing you to lose track of his diastolic pressure.

Sighing, you gave up on his BP reading and pulled your stethoscope off, crossing your arms. "How can you be so sure?"

He wet his lips with his tongue, raking his bottom lip with his teeth slowly. "Three weeks," he stated, the act of which seemed like an admission of some kind.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Wait, what?"

"Three weeks, give or take," he repeated, completely deadpan. "You asked how long my heart has been freaking out."

Weeks? That couldn't be right. "How can- ” You sighed, took a breath and tried again. "Dean, that doesn’t … "

Your words dropped off when you felt his hand wrap around yours, pulling you closer. He flattened your hand to his chest, gripping it there over his heart. You felt the muscle rocking against your palm in time with the beeps from the monitor.

"There's no spell, okay? Sweetheart, that's all you."

You blinked at him, unable to form a coherent thought for what seemed like forever. Dean just sat there, bright green eyes searching yours, patiently waiting for you to respond.

You were mad at him for scaring you, embarrassed by the warmth rushing into your cheeks at the intimate gesture, and - if you were being honest - maybe even a little flattered that he was giving you credit for the race his heart was trying to win.

"Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" you added, pulling away from him to grab a pen light. You didn't miss the slight eye roll he gave as you clicked on the light and shined it into his eyes one at a time, but his pupils were equal and reactive.

“I'm not concussed,” he said matter-of-factly.

You turned off the light and sighed, searching his eyes for meaning now. Dean had flirted with you before. But this? This was different. This was pure, raw, exhilarating. Terrifying….

“All me, huh? What - what am I supposed to do with that?” you said, dropping your penlight on the tray nearby.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, and you were surprised at the sincerity in his tone.

“Dammit, Dean. I-” You tried to turn away but Dean caught your wrist again, spinning you around and pulling you so close that you were standing between his legs now where they dangled off the edge of the exam table.

You froze there, unsure of your next move.

His heart may have been racing, but you were pretty sure your brain was shutting down. Your throat was dry, your tongue felt thick and heavy, and you gazed at him in a silent stupor. If he’d been going for the shock factor, it had worked.

A cocky smile tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth as he glanced down to where he was gripping your wrist with his hand. You realized too late that your pulse was racing in what was shaping up to be a close second behind his.

He raised an eyebrow. "Seems to be contagious."

You smirked in an effort to hide the fact that you were completely mortified, and said, "Get off my exam table, Winchester."

His smile faltered for a beat and he released your wrist. You headed for the door before he called out, "You're leaving?"

"Gotta check on your brother," you answered without pause. The air was way too thin in that infirmary, and you had to get out. Now.

You found it slightly easier to breathe once you were in the hallway making your way toward Sam's room. You'd surprised yourself by leaving Dean in the infirmary, forced to untangle himself from the EKG wires and blood pressure cuff, but you'd panicked.

What in the hell were you supposed to do now? You had known living in the bunker would be complicated, but you'd never expected Dean to pull something like this.

You could still feel the phantom sensation of his heart hammering against your palm.

You couldn’t imagine what would drive him to be so unabashedly raw and vulnerable with you. Damn Dean Winchester and his beautiful bleeding heart; one you were sure would inevitably break yours ... if you let it.

You didn't know exactly what he wanted, or even if he'd really meant what he said. In fact, he hadn’t said a whole lot of anything. But his heart had been racing.

You realized you'd been standing outside of Sam's room for a moment, and you pulled your focus in and knocked on the door, waiting for the invitation to open it before turning the knob.

Sam was propped up against the headboard, the light on the side table casting a yellow glow all around his room.

"Hey," you said, taking a seat at the edge of the bed as Sam smiled up at you.

"Wanted to make sure I'm still kicking?"

"Nah, I have more faith in my skills and your resilience than that."

You saw him eying your stethoscope around your neck and realized you'd forgotten to take it off in your rush to escape the infirmary.

"Habit?" he offered.

You sighed. "That, and your brother made me think he was having a damn heart attack just now."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Do I even want to know?"

You laughed and said, "You really don't…. I don't suppose there's any chance I could blame the way he's acting on a spell those witches could have hit him with?”

“ I, uh…” Sam raised an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes at you.

“I’m only half kidding,” you told him, deadpan.

“Sorry,” Sam said, smiling sympathetically. “Wish I could blame a spell for a lot of things he does.”

You puffed out your cheeks with a breath. “God, I don’t know what I’m going to do with him." Sam chuckled softly and immediately regretted it, hissing at the pain in his side. You gave him an apologetic shrug. "Are you sure you don't want something for the pain?"

He shook his head. "I'll be fine. You did a great job patching me up. Good as new in a few days."

"Well, I see a day or two of binge watching TV in our future," you said. "We'll take it easy for a bit and let you heal up."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Do you need anything before I let you rest?"

He shook his head. "Thanks again. I mean it."

"Don't mention it," you said, and turned to go.

You headed back to your room, changed clothes and grabbed a bottle of water before hitting the makeshift gym Sam had set up in one of the rooms down from yours.

You hopped on the treadmill and cranked it up, hoping the thoughtless act of running would bring some clarity, or at least let you forget about Dean for a bit.

Of course, your futile attempt had the exact opposite effect. As you watched your heart rate climb on the machine you began to visualize Dean sitting shirtless before you, offering himself up on an adrenaline-induced-exam-table platter.

After just ten minutes you slammed your hand down on the off button to stop the machine, yanking the pulse monitor off your finger and ignoring the pain in your side - a direct result of unconsciously holding your breath while daydreaming.

You showered, taking your time blow drying your hair. Then you headed into the kitchen for a snack before bed, undecided about whether you hoped to find Dean in there doing the same thing or not.

But there was no sign of him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You awake in the morning to find that Dean has gone on a hunt by himself.

When you awoke the next morning and went to check on Sam, he casually mentioned that Dean had left really late last night when word got out about some paranormal activity and a missing kid in the next state over. 

"He went alone?" you asked, frowning. 

"I don't like it either," Sam admitted. "But I'm out of commission.” He gestured toward his side where you'd placed 12 sutures in the laceration there just yesterday. “Not even sure it's our kind of thing." Your silence was reason enough for Sam to study you a moment while you were lost in thought. "He'll be okay," Sam assured you. "This is Dean we're talking about. For all we know he'll be home for dinner tonight."

"Yeah," you said, forcing a smile and hoping it was more convincing than it felt.

Sam was great company, and the two of you embarked on a Lost marathon, pausing only occasionally for bathroom and food breaks. You were grateful for the comfortable ease in which you could step into your role as a friend and caretaker with him. It served as a much needed distraction to focus on tending to him, though thoughts of Dean were never far from your mind.

More than once you opened your mouth to ask Sam questions about Dean, but you always caught yourself. You weren't sure how you wanted to feel about his older brother, but you weren't willing to let someone else affect your opinion one way or the other just now.

The entire day came and went in a blur of binge watching and laughing with Sam. Life was good here. You'd found a way to practice medicine, sort of, and serve the cause of combating the evil in the world in some small way, and you couldn't help but think that you could just as easily lose everything if you got careless.

And Dean? Well, Dean represented the epitome of carelessness. Caring for Dean in any way beyond how you felt for him last week was careless. Treating him differently than you were treating Sam was careless.

You knew it, but did Dean?

The risk wasn't as great to him, beyond losing a good live-in doctor. But Dean had drawn a line in the sand the other night. You weren't confident that things could simply go on as they had been. You weren't sure you could ignore that heated moment between the two of you, even if Dean would allow it, but at what price?

"Hey.... Hello?"

Sam was snapping his fingers in front of your face, and you realized he'd been saying your name as the episode you'd been watching ended.

"Huh?" you said brilliantly.

He grinned at you. "You okay? You looked a little lost."

You smacked him on the arm for the bad joke and shrugged his question off. "Just thinking about dinner," you lied. "Hungry?"

"Sure," he admitted. He moved to get up and you frowned at him. 

"Hold up," you admonished. "You stay. I'll cook."

"We've been in this room all day," he complained. I'll just sit and watch and keep you company." You considered him a moment. "Promise," he added, dragging a finger in an X pattern over his heart.

"Okay," you relented.

Sam sat at the table in the mess hall and the two of you discussed the character arc of John Locke and the many subplots in Lost while you made a pot of spaghetti and a loaf of garlic bread.

You'd only been eating for a few minutes when Dean walked in. You were all at once relieved and anxious at his sudden appearance. 

He seemed to be intact, and there wasn't a trace of blood on him or his clothing. In fact, he looked completely unscathed. He just winked and gave you a thumbs up, observing your quick once-over examination of his appearance. 

"Quick job?" Sam said between bites of noodles.

“Not a case," Dean answered, gazing longingly at the pot of spaghetti. “Good news is, they found the kid and he's home safe.” He beelined for the sink and scrubbed his hands, and you had a bowl sitting for him at the table when he joined you, three beers fresh from the fridge in his hands.

He set one out for each of you and then twisted a fork full of spaghetti and put it in his mouth, closing his eyes with an exaggerated groan of pleasure that literally had you choking on your food.

Sam patted your back in concern, which did very little to help as you coughed. At least you managed to not spit food all over the place. Dean skillfully removed the cap from your beer and handed it to you, his brow furrowed. 

You took a sip and felt much better, if you didn't count the fact that you'd nearly humiliated yourself and he'd only been here for all of three minutes.

So much for acting normal. 

God, this was just Dean. Dean. 

The same Dean you’d known for months. The same Dean who’d called you every Sunday for the last six. But he was also the same Dean who had made it so easy for you to blur the lines between patient and friend when you’d met. The same Dean whose eyes had floated in and out of your dreams for weeks afterward. The same Dean who had dropped everything and come running when your brother was in trouble. The one who had helped pick up and patch up all of your broken pieces when you’d lost the only family you had left.

"This is amazing," Dean said after another bite. "I haven't eaten since last night, and boy am I glad I didn't ruin my appetite when I was tempted by a little diner on the way home."

You'd been worried he would act weird around you, but here he was, just being his usual self. You were relieved and slightly disappointed at the same time by how unaffected he seemed to be after, well, everything.

He told you and Sam about how the missing boy had just been a runaway the police located as Dean was getting to town. Dean had discovered that local teenagers had been creating the ghost like activity in the town, and had threatened to turn them in unless they swore to drop the act. The kids didn't know Dean wouldn't have gone to the police, but would have thrown together his own fake paranormal activity to scare the shit of of them instead. 

Sam listened intently as Dean told the story. You, on the other hand, found yourself studying the timbre of Dean's voice, the slight crows feet that lined the corners of his green eyes when he smiled, the way his voice got lower at the really important parts.

You knew better than to take note of these things. They were details you might not have paid much attention to if he hadn't ignited a spark yesterday in the infirmary that you hadn't been able to put out, even in his absence.

Dean excused himself to go shower after you insisted on cleaning up dinner, ordering a reluctant Sam back to bed.

"One more episode?" Sam asked as you cleared the table.

"One more," you agreed, knowing that you weren't ready to sleep yet, and deciding that he didn't look tired either.

You finished cleaning up dinner, popped a bowl of popcorn, and changed into your pajamas before joining Sam again for the show.

Halfway through the episode a freshly showered Dean joined you. You had to slide closer to Sam on the bed to make room as Dean scooted in next to you on the other side, leaving you sandwiched between them with absolutely no room to spare. 

Dean grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap and popped a piece into his mouth.

You smiled, trying not to think about the smell of his shampoo, or the fact that his calf was nestled up against your foot suddenly, and that you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

The three of you sat that way, Sam and Dean bantering back and forth about the most logical way to take down a smoke monster, and you were actually starting to believe maybe there was still a normal that could exist between you and Dean. 

You even started to wonder if his boldness last night had been more a result of adrenaline from the witch hunt they'd just come off of, and less about any feelings he thought he had for you.

The thought was oddly comforting, and you allowed yourself to enjoy the feeling of safety and companionship of the amazing men on either side of you as the show played out. 

When the show ended you changed Sam’s bandage for him, checking the wound for any signs of infection before you taped a fresh piece of gauze in place. Dean watched as you fussed over his brother, and then you both left Sam to rest.

"Damn island," Dean mused as you walked down the hall.

"I'll take this bunker over that hatch any day," you added in agreement.

Dean paused at your door with you. "Thanks, " he said. "For taking care of Sam today. We're not used to having backup. It's nice."

You smiled at him. "Don't mention it. Get some sleep."

His smile was laced with something like a secret as he turned to duck into his own room. You decided not to overanalyze as part of your act-normal plan, but that plan went out the freaking window when you saw what was waiting for you on your bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still reeling in the wake of Dean's boldness, you find yourself trying to sort through your own feelings.

It was there on the pillow, string tied with care in scroll-like fashion. A small hand-scrawled note lay beside it.

> _Just in case you've forgotten what you do to me._   
>  _-D_

You bit your lip for a second, turning it in your hands, then with one smooth motion the string slipped from the paper, revealing the EKG readout of Dean's racing heart from last night.

You shook your head in disbelief as your eyes scanned the blips and dips of his heartbeat. You grinned as you imagined Dean poking random buttons on the machine in an effort to print out this proof for you. As if you needed it.

As if you hadn't fully understood during the live performance.

You cast a nervous glance over your shoulder, almost expecting to find him there in the doorway, awaiting your reaction. But he wasn't, and you realized he'd slipped this in your room before making himself comfortable next to you in Sam's room.

He'd known all that time what you would find when you came back, and suddenly the cocky grin he'd just flashed you made perfect sense.

You sat alone on your bed, holding onto the EKG print out as you wracked your brain over Dean.

It was time to admit to yourself that you liked this. You liked knowing you had that kind of power over him. You liked the gravitational-like pull urging you to glance longer, sit closer, breathe deeper, when he was near.

Dean had ambushed you yesterday, but with what exactly? Not really an admission of his feelings. No…. There hadn’t been a whole lot of talking involved. And it wasn’t like he’d tried to kiss you or anything. God, you didn’t know what you’d have done if he had. Just the thought of those full lips of his on your own made the air in your room feel stuffy and hot.

Liking Dean and acting on it were two totally different things. You'd just gotten settled in at the bunker. You were starting to feel like you might be getting closer to actually going on hunts with the guys. Was it really a good idea to throw a wrench into everything by trying something more with him? God, it could ruin everything….

And you weren’t at all convinced Dean actually knew what he wanted, either. Whatever that was.

Your racing pulse had hinted to Dean that the effect he claimed you had on him might be reciprocated, or maybe he'd wonder if the adrenaline rush of patching up Sam and going into what he called your "doctor mode" when you'd thought he was hurt was to blame for it.

Either way, you were fairly certain he had no idea just how affected you were by all of this.

By him.

And you had no idea where to go from here.

 

*****

 

You didn't sleep particularly well that night. Mostly because you had no idea what to do about Dean, and the fact that you were definitely developing actual feelings for him. The EKG printout of his heartbeat practically mocked you all night from your nightstand, daring you to face your feelings. To face Dean.

You got up early the next morning and were in the kitchen making muffins and coffee when Dean wandered in.

He grinned at you and said, "Morning." Then he glanced around, seeing the oven light on and the muffin mix box on the counter and added, "God, that smells amazing."

"Hope you're hungry," you told him.

"I'm always hungry," he said, his voice low and rough.

If the smile he'd given you when he walked in hadn't been enough to send butterflies into flight in your stomach, the way he practically growled that response sure did it. God, you were a mess.

He stepped up next to you to pour some coffee as you washed out a bowl in the sink. You could feel the heat radiating from him as his arm brushed up against your shoulder. He seemed perfectly content to let the electricity buzzing between the two of you sizzle around without mention, but it was palpable in the air. You knew it, and he knew it.

"Sleep okay?" you asked him, bumping his hip with yours, more to gauge his reaction than anything.

"Like a rock," he answered. "You?"

You shrugged. "Not so much, hence the early morning baking." Of course he'd slept just fine while you were in the next room having an existential crisis.

Dean frowned as you moved to dry your hands on a towel, but he had a cup of coffee in hand for you when you turned back around. "You'll need this, then."

You leaned back against the counter, taking a sip and considering how to bring up his little stunt the night before with the EKG printout, but the oven timer beeped at the same time Sam walked in and said, "Do I smell blueberry?"

Dean grinned at Sam and added, "Awesome, huh?"

You bit your lower lip. Missed opportunity. You pulled the pan from the oven as Dean retrieved butter from the fridge. The three of you ate muffins at the table while Sam perused for cases on his laptop. At one point Sam read from a headline about a father and son that had gone missing just days apart in seemingly unrelated instances in the past week from a small town six hours away.

Dean listened to the details with an open mind, and Sam suggested it might be their type of thing.

"You feeling up to a field trip?" Dean had asked him as he tossed him another muffin.

"Yeah," Sam answered without hesitation. "I could use some fresh air.

"You sure you're up to it?" you asked.

"I promise not to break open my stitches," Sam said. "We won't be going far, and I know my limits."

You had to stay at the bunker to sign for a small but expensive delivery of supplies for the infirmary, which meant you wouldn't be tagging along, and honestly, you weren't sure you were feeling up to going on an actual hunt just yet. Flashes of your most recent nightmare were still fresh on your mind ... your brother's face, the smell of burning flesh....

You almost decided to go last second, screw the shipment, but talked yourself out of it. You'd thought you were getting closer to being ready, but Dean was so damn distracting right now.... That was dangerous for all of you. Maybe the next hunt....

Then you were seeing them off.

"I still don't like this," you said to Sam as he stood, one hand on the open passenger door of the Impala.

"It'll be fine," he assured you, sounding like he believed it. "I'll be careful. I know I'm not one hundred percent yet." You frowned at him. "I'll mostly be questioning the witnesses and coordinating with the police, you know, easy stuff. Playing FBI. Walk in the park."

"Don't worry," Dean added as he came around to the driver's side. "I'll do all the heavy lifting on this one. Right, Sammy?"

Sam gave you a reassuring pat on the arm and climbed into the car, doing his best to move smoothly despite the soreness in his side.

You sighed, recognizing defeat, and leaned down, peering at them both in the front seat. "Just promise you'll be careful."

Dean winked and said, "Always am."

You straightened and took a few steps back, watching as the engine purred to life and Dean pulled the car out of the garage. You just wished the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach had gone with them. Instead it grew and grew.

You tried to remind yourself that this is what you had signed up for by staying behind. Waiting, not knowing, it was all part of the dangerous game hunters played. Like it or not, you had to accept it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things go south on the case, Sam is determined to get Dean back to the bunker for you to care for.

When Sam's name lit up your phone screen, you breathed a silent player that it was good news.

It had been five days since he and Dean had left for the case of the missing father and son, which they'd since learned was a result of demons. Yeah, plural. At least two as Dean had put it on the phone last night. You answered the phone with a growing sense of trepidation this time.

"Sam?"

"We ran into complications." If his words weren't enough to make your heart sink, the strain and desperation in his voice sure did the trick. "We had a demon in the car with us. I had him tied up but he got loose. He's gone now, but he - he got the better of us."

"Are you okay?"

Sam hesitated, and it was unnerving knowing how rattled he was. "I ... I dunno 'bout Dean. He's unconscious."

Your gut reaction was that you should be there. "Sam listen to me. Is he breathing?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"Is he bleeding?"

"Nothing major."

You allowed yourself a millisecond of relief and then asked, "Do you know how hard he hit his head?"

"I ... I'm not sure."

"Check his eyes," you instructed.

"Okay, hold on." There was a moment that passed before he came back on the line. "His pupils look even and they're reacting to light."

Bless Sam and his book smarts.

"Grind your knuckles into his sternum," you told Sam. "Do it hard. See if you can get him to come to."

"Okay," Sam told you. You waited, hearing Sam say Dean's name several times while he did as you asked. "It's no good. He's out cold," he said when he came back on the line.

"Where are you?"

"We're, uh, about thirty minutes out from the bunker. Dammit, we were almost home...."

That meant they were closer to you than any hospital.

"Can you get him in the car safely, or should I come to you?"

"No," Sam answered quickly. "That demon could come back with reinforcements. I'll bring him to you."

"Be safe," you added. "Watch his neck."

"Be there soon."

Sam hung up and and you stuffed your phone into your pocket and headed to the infirmary to prepare.

When Sam pulled Baby into the garage only twenty minutes later, you knew he'd been flying to get there. You were opening the car's back door before Sam cut the engine. Dean was lying motionless on the seat, his long frame cramped in the space.

You were immediately taken back to the first time you'd laid eyes on Dean. He'd been hurt and unconscious in the backseat of the Impala, just like this. You took a breath to center yourself, trying to shake off the unpleasant feeling of deja vu.

Sam was at your side now and you glanced up at him, seeing newly formed bruises - angry and red - and what looked like the makings of a rope burn across his throat.

"God, Sam. Did the demon try to crush your windpipe?" You reached up with both hands and gently ran your fingers along his throat, palpating for unseen damage.

"I'll be fine," he insisted. "Dean first."

You hesitated, but you were fairly certain his trachea was fully intact and he wasn't going to quit breathing while you tended to Dean.

It would have been a struggle getting Dean into the infirmary without Sam's help, but the two of you managed using an old backboard.

Once you had Dean on the exam table you quickly surveyed the obvious damage. His left shoulder was severely skinned up, road rash judging from the pieces of rock embedded in and just below the skin, but for the most part the cuts and scrapes you could see were fairly superficial.

You felt along his cervical spine with your fingers, checking for any sign that it was out of alignment. There was no swelling present along his neck or any other obvious signs of damage, so you crossed your fingers, wishing you had a portable x-ray machine, and moved on.

You ground your knuckles into Dean's sternum, calling his name and praying he'd open those beautiful green eyes and look up at you. But he was unresponsive. "Come on, Dean," you pleaded through gritted teeth as you pressed harder, but he didn't budge.

You checked his pupils with a penlight and then started cutting his clothes off of him. When you exposed his chest and abdomen you discovered a large hematoma spanning across his left side and up into his ribcage. You immediately began palpating along his ribs with your fingertips, trying to ascertain the damage.

"How bad is it?" Sam asked.

"I'm sure he's got at least a couple of cracked ribs," you said, praying the ride home hadn't jostled him around too bad. You expertly tapped his chest, using a percussion technique to check for any signs of trapped air or fluid.

Sam rubbed his mouth with a hand, watching as you put your stethoscope on and listened thoroughly to Dean's lungs.

"His lungs are clear," you told him after a moment. "At least we know he doesn't have displaced ribs that are affecting his breathing."

You continued your assessment, palpating Dean's abdomen, listening for normal bowel sounds, and then briefly to his heart. Then you wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his bicep and pressed the bell of your stethoscope to the inside of his elbow just beneath the cuff. You inflated it while you watched the gauge, waiting until the last beat faded out.

You hung your stethoscope around your neck and rolled over the EKG machine, connecting the lead wires to his chest. His heart rate started blipping across the screen. The premature beats you'd noticed a few days ago were still evident in the readout, either the result of overexertion or alcohol, but his rhythm was strong, and you found some comfort in the steady stream of beeps emitting from the machine.

You would have given anything for an automatic BP cuff, and made a mental note to upgrade some more of the equipment, and to add a digital patient monitor or two to your wish list, but you'd have to make due for now.

It was going to be a long night.

You gazed at Sam, saw the anguish written on his face, and you reached out to lay a hand on his arm.

"Hey," you said softly, drawing Sam's gaze to you. "His vitals are normal and his blood pressure is holding steady, which means it isn't likely he has any serious internal bleeding." Sam gave an almost imperceptible nod, but the grave expression on his face remained. "He's stable," you added, glancing at Dean's face. "Now we just wait for him to wake up."

You set to work on the rest of Dean's cuts and scrapes, which included carefully removing several pieces of gravel from his left shoulder. When you'd finished debriding and irrigating the wounds and bandaging his shoulder you covered him with a light blanket to keep him warm and turned your attention to Sam.

"Let me take a better look at you." You gestured for him to sit on a chair. Sam gave a slight nod, his gaze never leaving Dean's unmoving form as he sat. You grabbed some antiseptic and gauze and pulled up a stool next to the one he was sitting on.

The gash above his left eye was shallow and just needed cleaning and a few steri-strips.

"You did good, Sam," you told him as you worked.

"It happened so fast. The demon got out of the ropes I tied him up with," Sam said, his voice soft, pained. "We were torn between exorcising him and bringing him back here to cure him, but he was occupying the body of the teenage son that had gone missing, and that kid still had his whole life ahead of him, you know?"

You nodded and he ran his hand through his hair.

"Neither one of us could stand the idea of letting him die without trying to save him," he continued. "We had him sitting in the backseat and he slipped the knots by dislocating his wrists and tried to strangle me from behind."

You listened in silence, gesturing for him to hold his shirt up so you could inspect the stitches in his side.

"Dean swerved so hard we nearly rolled. When we squealed to a stop on the highway Dean pulled him off of me, just as I was about to black out." Sam swallowed hard, meeting your eyes for the first time since he began recalling the events.

"I was totally useless, gasping for air, and I could hear Dean fighting him, but he never did make it to the trunk to arm himself." He looked over at his brother again. "I'm a little hazy on the details, but somehow the demon tossed him across the road and then abandoned his vessel."

You lowered his shirt back down for him and touched his cheek, drawing his gaze again.

"Dean put up one hell of a fight," Sam added. "The kid didn't make it when the demon left his body."

You felt wetness on your cheek and realized it was tears streaking down. You stood, putting your arms around Sam’s shoulders and hugging him gently. You held each other in silence for a moment while you rubbed circles on Sam's back with one hand.

"I should have-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," you interjected, pulling back to look at him. "You did the best you could, given the situation. Dean is home now. We've got him, and he'll be okay. You're not alone in this, and I'm going to take good care of him."

He nodded, but more for your benefit than because he was actually convinced.

"You should go clean up, eat something," you encouraged him. "I'll stay with him."

Sam watched as you put your stethoscope on and inflated the blood pressure cuff on Dean's arm again, tucking the bell against the inside of his elbow. You felt Sam give your shoulder a quick squeeze as he left the room.

An hour passed before Sam returned. He brought you a cup of coffee and you took it from him with a grateful smile. His hair was still damp, and although he looked exhausted, he also looked more like himself after a hot shower.

"No change?" he asked.

You shook your head. "Not yet."

"Do you need a break? I'll sit with him."

You smiled, shrugging. "I think I'll stay."

Sam leaned against the counter by the sink, stuffing his hands in his pajama pants pockets. "He likes you, you know," he said casually, gesturing with a nod to Dean.

Whatever the expression on your face was when you glanced at him, it made him chuckle. "Did he say that?"

Sam grinned. "Oh, he didn't have to."

You shook your head. "He doesn't know what he wants," you said softly, smoothing Dean's hair with your fingers. Sam just gave you a knowing look and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "You should get some rest," you told him. "You've had a long day. I'll wake you if he comes to."

He seemed to realize there wasn't much point in arguing. "Yeah, okay," he finally agreed. "Don't hesitate to come get me if you need a break." Then he paused at Dean's side, stooped a bit and said, "I finished off the last piece of pie… so you can wake up anytime now to kick my ass, jerk."

You grinned and he winked at you before heading out into the hall.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is unconscious and you worry over him long into the night, hoping his injuries aren't more severe than you anticipated.

You sat in the infirmary most of the night, watching the hypnotic waves of Dean's heartbeat ebb and flow on the monitor, completely and torturously unaffected by your presence. With every churning hour that slipped by without a response from him, your heart sank further into your stomach. Like a low-lying fog, doubt came creeping in.

You may have left the hospital, but you were still a doctor, and if you were being completely honest with yourself, you didn't know the extent of Dean's injuries.

Not really.

You didn't have the resources - the tests - to know.

You checked his blood pressure every twenty minutes, tracking the readings on your phone so you wouldn't miss any changes in your sleep-deprived state. You kept an eye on the massive bruise on his torso, watching and feeling for signs that the injury had become more serious, but you did all this with a growing sense of helplessness.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you became aware that the beeping on the monitor was picking up speed. You were sluggish to respond, and that's when you woke up, appalled that you'd actually started to drift off. Eyes squinting at the monitor, you scrutinized the readings.

Then Dean's fingers twitched ... just a slight movement, but movement nonetheless. You jumped to your feet, gripping his hand in yours.

"Dean, can you hear me?" His brow furrowed slightly and his eyes fluttered open. "Hey there, Winchester," you said, grinning in relief.

He blinked a few times and you squeezed his hand. His eyes did a once over of the surroundings and his voice was deep and rough when he spoke your name.

"I'm here," you assured him. "You're in the bunker. You're safe."

"Sammy?" he called out, his voice laced with panic.

"Hey, he's okay. Sam’s here." You pulled your phone from your pocket and sent Sam a quick text. "He's coming," you told Dean. "He's worried about you. We both were." Dean moved like he was trying to sit up, but you stopped him with a hand on his good shoulder. "Not so fast, big guy," you urged. "Lie back. You're pretty banged up. No moving until I confirm you didn't hurt your neck."

He huffed and let his head drop again, his chest heaving with each breath. Then he looked at you, really looked at you, and his eyes softened. He lifted his hand off the table and you gripped it again.

"How do you feel?"

He groaned, taking a few breaths while he considered the question. "Like I got my ass handed to me by a demon."

Sam burst through the door just then. "At least you remember what happened," he said as he stepped up.

Dean eyed his younger brother, wincing when he saw the red and purple marks, remnants of rope burn, on Sam's throat. "You good?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam answered with a slight nod, forcing a smile.

The exchange was as intimate as it was simple, and you suddenly felt very much like a third wheel.

"I'll give you guys a few minutes," you said softly, but Dean's grip on your hand tightened, and you caught Sam's knowing grin from the corner of your eye.

Dean clenched his teeth, his brow furrowing. "Don't … don't go."

You nodded. "Sure. I'll stay."

His grip on your hand relaxed a bit and he took a deep breath. He cast his eyes sideways to the EKG screen, then down at the blood pressure cuff on his arm. "How long was I out?"

Sam glanced at his watch. "It's almost five in the morning. You've been out all night."

Dean sighed and said, "What about the kid? Did he … ” Sam looked down at his brother, shaking his head softly. Dean closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again they were impossibly full of regret. "I - I didn't want to hurt him. He just kept coming at me. I didn't have a choice- "

"You saved my life, Dean," Sam added. "I was two seconds away from losing consciousness when you dragged him off me. He would have crushed my windpipe."

Dean stared up at the ceiling in silence, and you gave his hand a little squeeze.

"Let's worry about you for a bit," you told him.

Sam moved to lean against the counter along the back wall again in an effort to give you more space. Dean seemed thankful for the change in topic as you moved around to the end of the table, placing a hand on either side of his neck.

"Is it tender here?" you asked as you felt along his cervical spine.

"Nah."

"That's a relief," you said as you moved to the side of the table again. “Squeeze my hands,” you instructed as you put your hands on each of his, testing his grip strength when he obliged. You ran your hands up and down the length of his arms, and again at his legs, asking if he had any numbness or tingling.

“Feels normal.” Dean blinked and then turned his head to study his shoulder. "What exactly happened here?" he asked as he eyed the large bandage.

"You brought back a few souvenirs in the form of gravel," you told him as you lowered the blanket to his waist and began gently palpating along his ribs with your fingertips to check the swelling.

He flashed you a cocky grin. "Admit it, road rash looks good on me."

"And there's the Dean Winchester I met in the hospital all those months ago," you teased.

He grunted and hissed in pain at several spots, confirming your suspicion about his ribs. You checked his eyes, asking him a few simple memory questions while he tracked the movement of your finger. Then you put your stethoscope on and held the bell to his chest. Dean resigned himself to hold still for a moment while you listened.

“Take a deep breath for me," you instructed. He did as you asked, though it was obviously painful. "How bad was that on a scale of one to ten?"

"A five?" But the way his voice hitched up at the end made it a hard sell.

You frowned at him and he did that shrug thing where his eyebrows went up and his lips turned down like he knew you were onto him.

"Is the pain sharp or does it feel more like a muscle ache?"

"I don't know. Both."

You hung your stethoscope around your neck again and said, "Do you want to try and sit up?"

He nodded and you offered him a hand, but Sam stepped up instead.

"Here, let me."

Sam pulled him up slowly, supporting his weight with a hand on Dean's back. Dean managed to swing his legs out so they were dangling off the table. He sat there for a moment, a curse word slipping from his lips when he got a good look at the horrific bruising that covered his left side.

"That would be from the cracked ribs," you told him. "I think you've got at least three. I'd give anything to get an x-ray somehow." The last part was more of an afterthought, but Dean just shrugged it off.

"S’okay. I've had worse."

That was most certainly true.

“How's your back?” you asked. “Any tenderness?”

“No. Not really.”

"How does your shoulder feel?"

He raised his left arm, testing the motion and watching as you scrutinized his movements. You took his hand and moved his arm but his range of motion seemed good, and the pain didn’t seem too bad, if he was to be believed. You stepped back and looked at him again.

“Do you feel any popping, clicking or catching in your shoulder with movement?”

One corner of his mouth hitched up in a bit of a smirk as he gazed at you. "Don't look so worried, sweetheart. I'll be fine."

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, a disbelieving smile playing on your lips as you tried not to laugh at Sam's I-told-you-so expression.

"You're going to be tempted not to breathe deep with the pain in your ribs, but do it anyway," you told Dean as you moved closer, peeling the blood pressure cuff from his other arm. "You'll be at risk for pneumonia if you don't."

"If you'll stay close by that'll be a non-issue," Dean mused. You raised an eyebrow at him. "What? It’s not my fault you smell so damn good. I’m just saying."

"And that sounds dangerously like my cue to go," Sam said with a chuckle. "Do you need anything?" he asked, meeting your gaze.

"I think we're good," you told him, smiling.

"Yeah, we're good here," Dean added.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dean safely out of the woods, you finally get a chance to have a much-needed conversation with him about his declaration of his feelings for you.

“Glad you're back, man," Sam told Dean before he gave you a side hug. "Call me if you need reinforcements," he added for your benefit, loud enough for Dean to hear.

Dean just blinked, indignant. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam called, the smile evident in his tone as he walked out the infirmary door into the hall.

And then you and Dean were alone. For a moment the only sound was the quiet beeping of the heart monitor. It drew both your gazes and the speed steadily climbed.

"Damn machine," Dean groaned, as if it suddenly bothered him to be on display like that.

"The last time I had you on this table you didn't seem to mind that so much," you said, smiling as you sat down on the rolling stool and slid closer to him. You reached over and shut the machine off, feeling him watch your every move as you began working to disconnect the wires and gently peel the electrode patches from his skin. "Speaking of that...."

"Hmmm?" He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, releasing it slowly.

"I'm curious. What exactly was your plan when you hopped up on this table the other night?"

"Plan?" A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "To help you test out this equipment?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Nice try," you said, grinning.

Dean's eyes locked on yours. "Well, it wasn't my plan to make you think I was having a heart attack, that's for damn sure."

"Could have fooled me."

"Yeah, well, you just ... you were so damn cute while you fussed and doctored Sam."

 _And you're freaking adorable when you're frustrated_ , you thought, but what you said was, "So, you were jealous that I was paying so much attention to your brother?"

Dean blinked at you. "Well, when you say it like that...."

You grinned and took the last electrode patch off his chest and set it down, pushing the rolling monitor aside. He stood up then, slowly, and took a few tentative steps, stretching before turning back around to face you.

“I could have gone on pretending I don’t stay up nights thinking about you,” he said. “That it hasn’t been that way for months. That being distracted every second of every goddamn day isn’t one of the best and worst things to happen to me. That I can make sense of any of this. But the truth … “ He let out a soft, humorless laugh and shook his head. "Honestly, I just didn't want another night to go by without telling you, so I planted myself in front of you before I could lose my nerve." He gestured to the exam table, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

It was hard to imagine Dean Winchester losing his nerve over anything.

Ever.

He took a step toward you then, reached out and took your hand in his, rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb. Little jolts of electricity buzzed along your skin at his touch.

"Then you seemed to think I was hurt, which I wasn't expecting, and my heart started racing even faster than it already was. I couldn't think past it. Past you.... I don't know," he sighed.

You didn't have words, so you just waited for him to continue, because he was actually talking. And you needed this. Needed to know what he was thinking.

"Then you went into doctor mode,” Dean continued, “with that stethoscope of yours and your fancy heart monitor, and - and just like that you could finally see and hear what you’ve been doing to me ever since you got here."

"Dean," you began, getting to your feet so you could look him in the eye. "All this time, you could have-"

"Told you? I wanted to. Believe me. It was torture." He looked down for a minute, casually playing with your fingers. He breathed your name like a prayer just then. "It's like you don't know...."

"Know what?" you asked, not sure if you really wanted to hear the answer.

"How incredible you are." His eyes met yours, and for all your power you couldn't look away. "I know you weren't happy at the hospital before you left, but they were crazy to let you leave ... to not fight to keep you there."

"I wouldn't have stayed."

"I don't care." He took a deep breath, the pain of it causing him to wince. "Sam and I are beyond lucky to have you here."

"Yeah, well, you seem to have managed just fine all these years without me," you said modestly.

"This," he said with a sweep of his arm. "This isn't managing. This is the medical Hilton you've got going on. Believe me. Those pretty stitches Sammy's sporting? I'd have done a shit job in comparison."

You glanced at your feet, smiling softly. "It's easy to seem impressive when you're the only one around."

He looked at you then, and you felt his fingers on your face, lifting your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. He narrowed his eyes at you. "Is that what you think? That this doctor stuff is all you are to me?"

You shrugged half-heartedly. "Or maybe just that this is a man's world you're living in, and then I show up, and suddenly there's a woman around."

Dean lowered his gaze to the floor. "You remember when we met," he said. "After you figured out I was a hunter and not just a head case?"

You nodded, your eyes drawn to his left clavicle as the memory of his visit to your hospital came to the forefront of your mind.

"Sam gave me a hard time about you in the car on the way home," he recalled. "Said you were so far out of my league I couldn't even get tickets to a game."

You rolled your eyes and grinned at Sam's sports analogy, but Dean's face was somber, evidenced by the tight set of his jaw.

"And you know what?" he continued. "Sam was right. I knew it then, just like I know it right now."

You opened your mouth to say something, but he continued and the opportunity was gone.

"Then, one day out of the blue, Sam tells me you'd called. Said you were leaving your job at the hospital and needed a place to call home. Said you wondered if we had room at the bunker. And you know what? I told Sam I'd just won season tickets."

A soft laugh escaped your lips then, and he seemed more bold at hearing it.

“I kill evil things. All the time,” he continued. “But I am telling you, being around you makes me feel strong and weak all at once, braver and scared shitless.” Dean’s green eyes held yours, and you couldn’t have looked away if your life depended on it. “Up until now I haven't really known what to do with that, but if you’re feeling at all like I am, we could try to figure it out together.”

You were speechless. You’d hoped to get a glimpse of how he really felt, how serious he was about risking your friendship. And holy shit, he was going for broke. You touched his cheek softly with a hand, and his eyes closed for a breath.

Then his eyes met yours again. "You're brilliant, and confident, and sexy as hell," he added. Then, in what was becoming a familiar gesture, he pulled your hand to his chest where his heart was hammering away below his tattoo.

"Do you think just anyone can get me riled up like this?" He paused for effect, and when he continued the conviction in his voice was unmistakable. "Look," he sighed. "I'm not trying to pretend this life - a life with me - is something it's not. I know guys like me only get girls like you in Djinn dreams. Hell, maybe not even then...."

That gravitational pull was suddenly too much to resist, and you slid your free hand to the back of his neck, pulling him in close and lightly brushing your lips against his. It was more the hint of a kiss, but Dean's lips were warm, and soft, and good lord, you'd wondered what they would feel like against your own.

Dean's strong hands slid to the curve of your hips as he leaned his forehead against yours. "Don't do that if you don't mean it, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice rough. "I don't think my ticker can take it."

"You're not going anywhere, Winchester," you promised, lightly raking your nails along the back of his neck. "Not on my watch.”

His heart continued to hammer against your palm as those perfect lips of his hovered just inches from yours, his thumbs reaching inside the material at the bottom of your shirt to rub against your skin. "So, you're saying I'm in good hands?"

"God knows you need it."

He caught your mouth with his own, and this kiss was slow, hungry, deep … needy. It was like breathing after going without oxygen, and your body reacted like it had been made for this, lips parting for him. It was strange and wonderful, feeling the rightness of something familiar mixed in with all of the new sensations.

One of Dean's hands was in your hair now, the other on the small of your back, pulling you up against him. Your nerve endings seemed to light up one by one just from the close contact, leaving no room for air between you. You were happily lost in Dean's embrace, in the feel of his days-old stubble against your skin as his lips worshiped yours. Lost in the taste of him. In the indistinguishable cadence of your heartbeats.

When the kiss broke you gazed up into Dean's eyes, trying to level out your breathing.

“Damn, sweetheart. Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?” he said, voice deep with want and satisfaction, all at once.

“I might have an idea,” you breathed.

He moved a strand of hair from your face, fingertips tracing the line of your jaw, traveling down along your collarbone and beyond until his hand pressed gently to the spot over your heart. The grin that spread across his lips was victorious. "I told you it was contagious."

You smiled and said, "Come on, patient zero. Let's get you to your room. You’ve had a long night.”

"I'm fine, I swear," Dean was saying as you led the way. “I've got this really hot doctor taking care of me. I've never been better, really.”

You stopped in the kitchen to fill an ice pack because, despite his tough guy act, you knew the pain in his side had to be terrible. Once in his room he grabbed a t-shirt off a hanger and sat down on the bed. He tried to scoot back, hissing in surprise at the pain in his ribs.

"Take it easy, big guy," you said, arranging a pillow so he could lean back against it.

He dropped the shirt on the bed. "Nevermind on the shirt," he huffed. "Not gonna happen."

"I think I prefer you without one," you admitted as you hung the shirt back up in his closet and switched on the lamp by the bed.

"You know just what to say to make a guy feel better," he said, smiling through the pain as he relaxed against the pillows.

You shut the main light off and went around to the other side of the bed and sat down. You offered the ice pack to him and he took it begrudgingly, sucking in air through his teeth as he rested it against his ribs.

"Sonofabitch," he spat. "That's cold."

You watched as he took a few breaths and the lines on his face softened. "You need to rest," you said as you ran your fingers over his hair.

"Rest? Haven't I been doing that all night? I was knocked unconkish, you know."

"Unconkish?" You raised an eyebrow at him, biting back a grin.

"Yeah," he deadpanned. God, he was good at that. "I'm pretty sure that's the correct medical terminology, Doc."

"Maybe you got hit harder than I thought," you teased. "But seriously, get some rest. Doctor's orders."

"I'd rather you were ordering me to do ... I dunno, something a little more fun."

"Go to sleep, Winchester."

"You're going to leave a wounded man to fend for himself? What if I need CPR or something?"

You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a smile. "CPR? Seriously? And this is why I'm leaving," you said, moving to stand. But he caught your wrist in his hand, and all joking was gone from his face when you looked over at him.

"Stay," he said simply. "Please. Just … stay. I'll be good."

You were completely useless against those piercing green eyes, and he knew it. You kicked off your shoes and socks and climbed onto the bed. With some effort, he turned the lamp off and slid lower until only his head was propped up by the pillow. With a little jerk of his head he gestured for you to scoot closer.

You snuggled up next to him, resting your head in the crook of his good shoulder. He sighed softly in content, and you adjusted the ice pack for him and then lightly trailed your fingers along the hard ridges of his stomach, glancing off some of the bruising that was already turning a darker shade of bluish-purple.

“I could get used to this,” he said simply.

“Me, too,” you admitted.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he prompted.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the soft rocking motion of his breathing. You were only vaguely aware of the gentle pressure of his lips on your forehead as exhaustion won out and you slipped into sleep.

Dean knew you. Knew you’d been up all night looking after him. In truth, he'd only agreed to go to bed so he could pull you under the covers with him and make sure you got some rest. God, after all this time he could hardly believe you were really here lying in his arms.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your concern for Dean comes out in unexpected ways that result in you making a to-do list.

You were sitting with your laptop in the library, buying clothes you would probably decide you didn't need later, while Dean and Sam were hanging out in the war room. Then the tone of Sam's voice in the next room changed, and you instantly felt a chill flow cold and fast along your spine.

You were already getting to your feet when Sam called your name. You took the short steps into the war room and rushed over to where Sam was kneeling on the floor next to Dean.

Dean was hunched over, clutching at his chest. Pain gripped his face as he pulled down small gasps of air.

"He was fine two seconds ago," Sam exclaimed.

"Sam, my stethoscope is in the infirmary." Sam took off like a bat out of hell to retrieve it. "Dean, talk to me," you urged, taking his face in your hands. His skin felt cool and clammy. You pressed your fingers to his carotid, finding a weak and thready pulse. "Tell me what's going on."

He could barely even focus on you. "Feels like ... I'm under ... a pile of rocks."

"I'm right here," you told him. "It'll be okay."

Sam returned with your stethoscope and you encouraged Dean to breathe as you slipped the bell down his shirt against his chest. His heartbeat was dangerously slow - you estimated about 40 beats per minute, and a galloping sound followed each contraction of the muscle - confirming your fears.

Dean was having a heart attack.

"We need to get him to the infirmary now," you told Sam. Sam didn't hesitate. Between the two of you you managed to get Dean off the floor, Sam supporting most of his weight as you moved down the hall. You were just helping Dean onto the exam table when he drew in a stifled, wheezing breath and went completely limp, slumping forward.

You barely managed to catch him. Sam grabbed him by the shoulders and helped you lay him back. You pressed your fingers to his neck again, praying for a pulse, only to find there wasn't one.

"No, no, no," you muttered as you frantically put your stethoscope on and listened for a heartbeat. What you heard was a faint flutter, not actual contractions of the muscle. “His heart is failing,” you told Sam, fighting back panic. “Can you do compressions?"

You side-stepped to make room for Sam, and he didn't hesitate to follow your lead. He stepped up, placing his hands over Dean's sternum while you quickly attached three EKG leads to Dean’s chest and turned on the machine. The chaotic up and down motion that hurriedly traced along the EKG was not a heartbeat, but ventricular fibrillation.

You grabbed an ambu bag and held the mask over Dean's mouth and nose, squeezing it to force air into his lungs while Sam paused and then started compressions again. You wracked your brain, mentally running through the list of medical equipment you had cataloged in the infirmary. You didn't have a defibrillator....

_This can't be happening_ , you thought. _He seemed fine. His heart was fine._ There hadn't been any signs to be concerned about. _And now I'm losing him...._

Without a way to shock Dean’s heart back into a normal rhythm, he wasn't going to last. And you didn't have any cardiac drugs to administer to help force his heart to beat harder.

“Hold up,” you told Sam, scooting closer when he raised his hands up and looked to you. In a desperate, hail mary attempt to interrupt the deadly rhythm, you did the only thing you knew. You raised your closed fist above Dean’s chest and slammed it down hard, right over his sternum. The precordial thump appeared on the EKG screen as an extra large peak, but the V-fib continued.

"Dammit Dean, breathe!" you said through gritted teeth.

You blinked back tears, feeling a hand on your arm, and when you opened your eyes the room was dark. Then you thought you heard Dean's gruff voice saying your name. You turned in the direction of the sound and realized Dean was the one holding your arm.

"It's just a dream," he was saying.

You frantically looked around and realized you were still in his bed. "Dean," you gasped, sitting straight up.

"It's okay," he said, his voice softer now. "It wasn't real. I'm right here."

You looked over at him, studying his face as your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. You reached out to lay your palm against his cheek and feel the warmth coming off him.

He really was here. _Alive._

He leaned into your touch, watching in concerned silence while you tried to get your breathing to even out. He placed his hand over yours on his cheek. "Do you want to tell me about it?" His voice was just above a whisper.

You shook your head. That's when you realized there was wetness on your cheek and quickly moved to brush it away on your sleeve.The clock on his nightstand said it was almost seven in the morning. How long had you been asleep? Just over an hour, maybe?

Long enough to subconsciously torture myself, apparently.

"Go back to sleep," you encouraged him, moving to get off the bed. "It's still early."

"Wait-"

"I need some air." It was the truth. You were on the verge of having a full-blown panic attack in his bed if you didn't get out of there.

"I'll come with you," he offered, moving to sit up, but the pain in his ribs slowed him considerably and gave you a chance for rebuttal.

"I won't go far," you promised, and you were out of the room, closing the door on his argument.

Your chest was heaving and the air felt thin as you navigated the bunker. You threw open the door and stepped outside, drawing the crisp morning air down in gulps.

The ground was cool and damp with morning dew as you sat, knees drawn up to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them, trying to process what had happened.

This nightmare had been different. Dean dying right in front of you. It was your worst fear come true, on every possible level.

You cared about Dean. So much. In fact, you knew now that you could very well be falling in love with him. Crazy how the idea of losing someone can force you to appreciate the depth of your feelings about them. You weren't lost on the irony.

You'd been plagued by nightmares of your parents and the vampires who had taken their lives when you were a teenager, and more recently of your brother and the Rugaru that had killed him.

But this … this had been different.

Or maybe just the waking up part had been different. Waking up and finding Dean there next to you, eyes filled with worry, and knowing that no matter what you did you couldn't actually keep him safe....

Dean had made that damn joke about needing CPR when you’d gone to bed, which must have triggered the freaking nightmare.

Your breath was coming easier after just a few minutes of being out in the fresh air, and you sat out there for another ten after that, but you knew the only thing that was actually going to make you feel better was never feeling that helpless again.

You headed back inside on a mission.

You pushed down the sick feeling that arose at just being in the infirmary again; the place where some stubborn part of you still felt like Dean's heart had just failed him right here.

Like you had failed him.

So maybe you couldn't prevent bad things from happening to Dean and Sam, but you sure as hell would do your best to fix it when they did. This was why you had come, after all.

The nightmare was still at the forefront of your mind, images of Dean gasping for breath, going limp in your arms, Sam desperately pumping his chest, serving as a wake up call you wouldn't soon forget.

You grabbed a clipboard and started rummaging through the cupboards again, jotting down everything you would have needed to keep Dean alive, but didn't have.

You wrote "defibrillator" on the list in huge letters, underlining it several times. You wondered how you might try to get your hands on some epinephrine, and before you knew it tears were blurring your vision to the point that you couldn't see to write one more thing down.

You groaned in frustration and tossed the clipboard aside. It slid across the counter top and bumped into the wall. The sound of it made you jump, and you looked up just as Dean appeared in the doorway.

He was standing barefoot in a black tank top and jeans, his hair freshly washed and still damp.

One look at you and he seemed to be instantly torn between hurrying to your side and giving you some space. He opted for something in the middle and walked toward you slowly, snagging the tissue box on his way over and offering it to you.

You took it from him and tried to stop the flow of tears.

Dean watched you in silence for a moment, and then he said, "Dammit Dean, breathe." You narrowed your eyes at him in confusion. "That's what you were saying before you woke up," he clarified. You opened your mouth to stop him, but he saw it coming and held a hand up. "I know you don't want to, but we're talking about this," he said. You could tell by the hard set of his jaw that he was determined. "You may be the expert in this room, but I do know a thing or two about nightmares."

His green eyes bore into yours, and you sucked in a long, shaky breath. He closed the small gap between you, taking you by the waist. His strong hands gently pulled you against him and you rested your hands lightly on his chest.

He was here. Save for the broken ribs and the shoulder injury, he was okay. He really was okay, or at least, he would be soon enough. The smell of his shampoo filled your senses and you breathed him in.

"You don't have to tell me everything," he said, his voice deep and warm. "I'm sensing that I scared the living shit out of you. Does that about sum it up?" He looked at you expectantly, brow furrowed, and again you nodded, not trusting your voice. He raked his bottom lip with his teeth, pulling your hand tight enough to his chest to feel his heart, to anchor you.

You needed it more than he could have known, because as much as you knew he was right there in front of you, the dream had felt so real.... You closed your eyes, trying not to let it overwhelm you.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured you, his voice low as he brushed his thumb along the line of your jaw. "Remember? We have a deal."

You looked up at him. "That's the problem. I can't hold up my end of the bargain without some new equipment," you managed, your gaze dropping to the clipboard and the list you'd been making.

His eyes quickly scanned the page, lingering on the word "defibrillator," and you thought you saw a new wave of understanding wash over his features.

"Then we get you whatever you need. Starting today," he said matter-of-factly.

You sighed. “That's a tall order. I don't… " You couldn't even sort out your thoughts enough to verbalize them.

Dean slowly brushed the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, lifting your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. "Doesn't matter. Sam and I will make it happen."

"Make what happen?" Sam asked as he walked in.

"Does no one in this house sleep?" you said with a laugh that burst out of you and made your chest feel ten times lighter. Sam gave the two of you an appraising look as you stood there holding each other.

Dean flashed his cockiest smile for his brother and said simply, "Season tickets."

Sam chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you before turning his gaze on Dean. "Yeah? It’s about damn time."

Dean shrugged, totally unphased. “Better late than never.”

"We need to get this shoulder bandaged up again," you told Dean, gesturing for him to sit. He'd obviously taken the bandage off to shower. "God, it's like you're becoming a permanent fixture on this exam table," you thought out loud as he sat down.

Dean looked at you, concern embedded in his features, but you smiled to let him know you were only mostly serious. Sam was holding the clipboard with your list on it, scanning the items and muttering to himself. You found the large bandage you needed, along with antibiotic ointment, and set to work on Dean's shoulder.

"I imagine we can find most of this online," Sam announced after a moment. "The adrenaline might be tricky, but for the most part I think this is totally doable."

"I hope you're right," you told him. "It's a little weird not having everything at my disposal. It's just going to take some adjusting."

"I'll get my computer and we'll go through it all together if you want," Sam offered.

"That would be great, actually. Thanks."

"Not on an empty stomach though," Dean interjected with a decisive clap of his hands. "Breakfast first."

You grinned and stepped back to look at the bandage you'd finished placing, scrutinizing it. Knowing Dean, you would be putting a new one on in a few hours, anyway. You had a feeling he was going to be like a kid going through bandaids.

He stood up and gave you an approving nod. Then, before you knew what was happening, his hand was cradling your jaw, gently pulling you in for a slow kiss that left you lightheaded, high on the taste of him and lack of oxygen.

When he released your face he gave you a cocky grin and headed straight for the kitchen without hesitation, calling out, "I'm making waffles."

You glanced over at Sam, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. "Doctor fetish?" you offered apologetically,

"You fetish, for sure," he said with a chuckle. “And, while we’re at it, I told you so.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're still reeling from the idea of your relationship with Dean moving past the friends stage, and Dean's recent bumps and bruises mean the two of you will certainly be taking things slow.

You took a shower while Dean cooked breakfast. The hot water felt amazing, but also made you a little drowsy, reminding you just how little sleep you'd gotten in the last twenty-four hours.

Shampooing your hair made you think of Dean, the clean scent of him as he'd held you just now and kissed you.

You couldn't pretend you hadn't seen it coming, but that didn't diminish the fact that you were only now realizing just how hard you were falling for Dean Winchester.

You knew better.

Hunters meant heartbreak. You had gone through it with your parents, even your brother, and yet here you were letting yourself revel in the image of those impossibly green eyes of his.

You no longer had to wonder what those full lips felt like moving against your own….

You were so far gone you almost didn't recognize yourself.

And that scared you.

You had been all about reinventing yourself when you'd decided to come here. But the grown-up you had never lived the life of a hunter, or even close to one.

Everything you knew about this lifestyle, Dean's lifestyle, was from a childhood of being raised in it. All of that knowledge was deeply ingrained, and drove your instincts, but beyond recognizing that, you'd pulled away from the life as a coping mechanism.

You were still deciding where you fit in this world as a grown woman, and falling for a Winchester had not been part of the plan.

But life seldom went the way you had planned.

 

*******

 

"These are actually really good," you said after taking a bite of the waffles Dean had cooked.

"Don't sound so surprised, missy." Even when he tried not to smile, his eyes gave it away.

You grinned and took another bite, following Sam's finger with your gaze as he pointed to his laptop screen. Sam had eaten three waffles before you'd joined the pair of them at the table, and true to his word, he helped you find equipment online for the next few hours.

Dean came and went, busying himself with other things while you and Sam shopped. It was past noon when you placed the last order, checking off the last item on your list.

"Who knew shopping online could be so exhausting?" you said with a yawn, standing to stretch.

"I don't think it was the shopping that wore you out," Sam offered, closing his computer. "I blame that brother of mine for keeping you up all night.”

You turned around to see Dean fast asleep on the nearest couch. Apparently being knocked out, or what was the word he’d invented again - unkonkish - wasn’t nearly as restful as he’d made it look.

“I'm going to run to the store and get groceries and supplies," Sam said, grabbing his wallet off the table. "Do you need anything?"

You couldn't spend one more minute shopping, or even thinking about it. "Nah," you told him. "I'll make a trip when my brain is working again. Thanks, Sam."

He headed for the garage and you slowly approached the couch where Dean was sprawled out, asleep.

You carefully sat down on the edge, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath; gazing at the light dusting of freckles that fanned out below his eyelashes.

Dean Winchester…. Just one look at the man and your common sense flew right out the damn window.

You found yourself stretching out on the couch, carefully molding yourself to him so as not to jostle him or aggravate his broken ribs. The feeling of resting against the broad muscles that made up Dean's body made you both relaxed and hyper-sensitive at once.

Dean's eyes didn't open, but his left arm fell over your waist, trapping you in comfortable bliss. You knew better than to think you hadn't woken the hunter by joining him on the couch, but he seemed perfectly content to go on napping with you. You breathed in the scent of him, feeling the heat radiating from his body, and soon you were drowsy enough to drift off.

You didn't know if you slept like that for twenty minutes or two hours, but when you opened your eyes Dean was watching you, softly running his calloused fingers over your hair.

"This is a good dream," he said, voice rough with sleep.

"Mmmm-hmmm," you played along, tilting your face to meet him halfway when he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“We should have done this a long time ago.”

“Couch naps?” you said with a grin, earning a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Did you and Sam find everything you need?" he asked, his tone a little more somber.

You nodded. "Mostly, yeah. Now I just have to wait for all of it to get here."

Dean brushed a thumb inside the bottom of your shirt, right along the inside of your hip, and you felt a tug down in your belly, a budding desire to be closer against him than you already were. You reacted instinctively, wiggling your hips a little closer to his.

Dean's breath hitched in surprise and you froze, feeling like an idiot. The tank top he was wearing hid some of his injuries, but you shouldn't have been so careless.

"Did I hurt you?" you asked, apologetically.

Dean slowly let out the breath he was holding and said, "No, sweetheart. That ... that was the opposite of pain."

He leaned down, his hand going to the small of your back, pulling you even closer as his lips found yours. You had been reliving your kisses with Dean, and thinking about those lips of his in the shower that morning, but they were so much sweeter, softer than you remembered.

You whimpered against his mouth, and he responded eagerly, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth. Then his tongue found yours and you reached behind his head, raking your nails against his neck as he nibbled, sucked and licked you into a breathless frenzy.

You kept your hand safely at the back of his neck, but his hand wandered freely, dipping inside your shirt, caressing the sensitive skin of your stomach and sending swarms of butterflies into flight there.

Then his hand was moving up, his thumb making light circling motions on the fabric of your bra. You subconsciously wrapped a leg over his hip, grinding lightly against him, craving some friction.

Dean gasped, his chest expanding. The simple act of him gulping down air reminded you how easy it would be to get carried away.

You leaned back far enough to gaze up at him, running your thumb along his bottom lip, swollen from kisses. "We - we can't," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're hurt, and I'm supposed to be helping, not making things worse."

"Believe me, you're helping," he breathed, flashing you that cocky Dean Winchester smile. "In fact, right now I don't hurt at all."

You shook your head, mustering all of your willpower as you moved into a sitting position, facing him. "That's my point. Endorphins are blocking the pain receptors in your brain. That doesn't change the fact that your ribs are broken. That doesn't mean you're actually up to this."

"God, it's so hot when you go into doctor mode." He licked his lips, eyes almost glossy. "And I'm pretty sure my body is - " he glanced down at the obvious bulge in his jeans " - up to this."

You leaned in again, smiling against his mouth as you kissed him softly. "Dean, I'm not calling your manhood into question."

He took a breath, considering you for a beat before he nodded. "I've thought about this - us - a lot, actually," he said. It was a loaded statement, one you couldn't fully appreciate in the moment. Then he swallowed, gestured to his bandaged shoulder and his injured side and said, "I really don't want to be like this the first time we ... " He sighed, searching for the right words. "I want to be a hundred percent for you, sweetheart."

"You'll get a clean bill of health in no time," you assured him.

"Until then, maybe you can speed up the healing process a little by kissing me better?" he said wistfully, that boyish grin returning.

You leaned in, but instead of going straight for that perfect mouth of his, you nuzzled his neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along his throat. A nip at his earlobe drew a satisfying gasp from him. Then you kissed down his collarbone, your lips lingering on the spot where the break there nine months ago had brought Dean into your life.

"I think we've established that I'm really good at speeding things up," you said, tenderly kissing the spot over his heart. It reverberated against your lips through his shirt like a kick drum, fast and furious.

Dean Winchester had such a cool, collected way about him, but this… this was the one thing he couldn't control. The one thing that let you glimpse how he was really feeling. And he knew it.

"I think I like this," you admitted to him, leaning back and pressing your palm flat against his chest.

"Yeah?" Dean breathed, crooking an eyebrow.

You nodded and closed your eyes, tuned in to the rhythm, enjoying his heart openly for the first time since Dean had been so vulnerable in sharing it with you. The feel of the muscle contracting through his shirt stirred the warmth in your core.

"The way your heart reacts," you said. "Just knowing I can do this to you … it’s kind of hot."

"Dammit," Dean said between gritted teeth, startling you.

Your eyes shot open and you pulled away, confused. "Sorry. I-"

"No," he added, sharpness edging his voice as he caught your wrist. "Don't apologize for that. Ever."

You hesitated, confused. "I ... okay...."

Dean's eyes bore into yours. "I want you to own the power you have over me," he insisted, pulling your hand back to his chest. "I want you to command every beat, and I sure as hell want you to enjoy it." He looked so torn as he continued. "Just maybe somewhere a little more private, and not when my brother is about to walk in on us."

Right on cue, Sam's voice echoed through the bunker. "I'm back. I brought lunch ... and pie."

You smiled, burying your face in Dean's good shoulder as a soft laugh escaped your lips. You'd been so caught up you hadn't heard Sam come in. You sat up again, biting your lip and grinning.

Dean gave you an amused look layered with regret. "Help me up." You pulled him to his feet with his good arm, hearing him grunt a little at the pain in his side. He straightened and adjusted himself, rolling his eyes at the ever-present bulge in his jeans as he whispered, "Shit. Hope I can walk."

You stifled a giggle and led the way into the mess hall where Sam was putting groceries in the fridge, too distracted to notice Dean's predicament.

"How was the nap?" Sam asked.

"Invigorating," Dean deadpanned. You turned your head so Sam wouldn't see you stifle a laugh, but Dean looked as stoic as ever. You took a second to get yourself together before grabbing a sack of groceries to unpack. "I thought you said there was pie," Dean muttered, rummaging around.

"I also said there was lunch," Sam added.

Dean scoffed. “I'm wounded. I need comfort food.”

"You really should eat some real food first," you agreed with Sam as Dean pulled the pie from a bag.

"Don't listen to her," Dean said in a low voice to the pie. "She didn't mean it."

You helped Sam set out the rotisserie chicken he'd brought back, along with salad. Dean had muttered something about a ‘hard pass’ as he passed the salad right along to you when Sam offered it to him.

“I know I've seen you eat lettuce on your burgers," you said to him as you and Sam enjoyed the salad.  
"That's different."

"How?"

"It just is."

Sam shook his head. "He's hopeless. Believe me. The only vegetables Dean consumes on a regular basis are potatoes and tomatoes in the form of ketchup and fries."

"Not true," Dean said in between bites of cherry pie, holding up an indignant finger. "Tomatoes are technically a fruit, which means ketchup is really just a smoothie." He grinned like he thought he'd just somehow won the argument.

You laughed out loud as Dean winked at you.

Sam just shrugged, disenchanted. "God, you’re hopeless."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A delivery of supplies has you feeling giddy, but not nearly as giddy as what Dean labels as your 'second date.'

Sam came down the stairs from the crow's nest with several boxes in his arms, grinning at you like he was delivering Christmas. 

"Is that what I think it is?" you said as you jumped up to meet him. 

"Your equipment," he said. "Or at least some of it."

You beamed at him, glad you'd chosen rushed shipping as he set the boxes down on the table in the war room. You had already received a supply of EKG electrodes, the portable defibrillator, and a few other small things, but this was another big shipment you'd been waiting on. 

Dean was sitting at the table and moved to grab a knife for you, but stopped when he saw that you'd already pulled a pocket knife from your jeans pocket and were slicing the packaging tape right down the center of the first box. He smiled as he put his own knife away and turned his attention back to his laptop. 

Sam sat down at the table as well, and he and Dean engaged in a discussion about whether or not a murder in the next state was suspicious enough to be a case or not while you began pulling equipment from the first box. It contained one of the vitals monitors and it's stand, complete with all the necessary attachments for complete patient monitoring. The second box was small and held two separate automatic blood pressure cuffs.

You found some AAA batteries, which required a brief search through several drawers, and inserted them into both of the BP cuffs before taking one over to Dean. 

He was telling Sam that the police were looking into the victim's wife as a suspect, and he only gave you a curious glance when you sat next to him and gently wrapped the cuff around his wrist, pressing the button to make it turn on and encouraging him with a silent gesture to hold his hand up by his heart while it took a reading.

Dean didn't miss a beat in his conversation with Sam as the cuff inflated on his arm, completely unphased by your using him as a guinea pig to test it out. Dean knew he wasn’t healed up enough yet to be hunting, but he insisted he’d be fine to tag along and play wing-man for Sam by interviewing witnesses and family members if they found a case. You weren’t at all convinced he had the self restraint to sit out the actual hunting part of a hunt, but wanted to save that argument for when they had a concrete case.

When the blood pressure cuff had run it's cycle you peeled it off his arm. You gazed at the reading, satisfied that the results showed what you knew Dean's normal blood pressure to be. One down, one to go....

You glanced up at him again, trying to decide whether to test the second cuff out right then or if you'd be driving him crazy. Dean must have sensed your internal debate, because he just gestured for you to go ahead with a slight nod, offering his arm to you again. 

You grinned and repeated the process all over again with the second cuff, finding it to be accurate as well. When you finished you placed a kiss to his forehead, earning a wink and a smile from him in return as he listened to Sam read from the newspaper article he'd found online. 

Next you set to work assembling one of the monitor stands, mouthing a silent ‘thanks, I got it,’ to Dean when he held out a hand, offering to take the base of the stand from you. You gave him a thumbs up along with a grateful smile for the sweet gesture, but you actually made quick work of the assembly. 

Then you opened the third box and assembled that monitor stand as well, all the while listening as Dean and Sam continued to discuss the potential case. 

The fourth package was a padded envelope which contained a handgun holster meant to attach to the center of your bra.

You’d wanted one for quite some time, but had finally purchased it online a few days ago. It had actually arrived earlier than you'd expected, and you made a mental note to try it out in the firing range with your little. 380 LCP in the next day or two. 

You dropped the holster off in your bedroom before you gathered your new equipment and headed toward the infirmary with them. 

You placed one monitor next to the old-fashioned exam table, which you realized you were growing quite fond of. The second one went beside one of the single sick beds in the room. 

You hoped - great as it was to be fully prepared - that the occasion never came when you'd need to use both monitors at the same time. You shuddered at the thought, images of Dean and Sam both laid up in the infirmary flashing in your mind's eye. You shook your head in an attempt to clear it, touching the bridge of your nose.

"Hey," Dean said from the doorway before he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Fine,” you assured him. You felt his chin come to rest on your head, heard his soft exhale of a breath. 

"What about these contraptions," he said, pointing with a wave of his finger to one of the new monitors. "You want to wire me up and test 'em out? Could be fun."

A soft laugh escaped your lips. "How is it you know me so well, Winchester?" He gave a little hum of satisfaction in response. "I definitely need to try them out soon, but not right now. Raincheck?"

"Just say when, sweetheart." He turned you to face him then, lifting your chin and studying your eyes. "You sure you're okay?"

"Promise," you assured him. You resisted the urge to wrap your arms around his middle, wary of his broken ribs, settling instead for just leaning your cheek against his broad chest. “I’ll be even better if you tell me that’s not an actual case you and Sam found,” you added half-heartedly. “It’s barely been a week since you got hurt. You’re not ready to fight monsters again yet, Winchester.”

"Not a case,” he confirmed, barely masking his disappointment. “But the good thing about not having a case is that we have the whole night to kill," Dean said. "And if you’re not in the mood to play doctor, I guess all I need to know is how you want to spend it."

You chewed your bottom lip in thought and leaned back far enough to meet his gaze. "I just want to spend tonight feeling close to you," you said. "I don't really care what we do, just as long as I get to stare into those ridiculously green eyes of yours." 

Dean's eyes sparkled even brighter when a promising smile stretched across his face to reach them. The low, gravelly timbre of his voice sent butterflies into flight in your stomach when he spoke. "Now that I can do.” 

He gently took your face in his hands and bent low until his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow, unhurried, and left you breathless. 

"Why don't you go change into something comfy," he suggested. "Now, if that just so happens to include those cut off sweatpants you turned into little shorts, so be it." 

You let out a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"I'm just saying," he added with a smirk, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Give me fifteen minutes, and stay in your room ‘til I come get you. Deal?"

You nodded, high on the taste of Dean and the scent of his aftershave rising up through his shirt collar. Another quick kiss, followed by a guttural sound of tortured pleasure resonating in his throat as he pulled away. He gave your ass a light smack and left you standing in the infirmary, smiling like a giddy teenager, before you set off for your room in search of said shorts. 

You'd only worn them once, maybe twice since moving in. You certainly hadn't realized they'd left a lasting impression on a certain someone. Luckily it only took a moment of rummaging through a drawer before you found them. You slid out of your jeans and pulled them on, choosing a black tank top to go with them. You checked your appearance in the mirror, adding a little strawberry gloss to your lips and running your fingers through your hair. 

By the time Dean knocked on your door your heart was racing pleasantly with anticipation. You opened the door to greet him, your skin flushing with heat as his eyes took you in. His gaze lingered on your legs, on the cut off shorts, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He didn't seem to care how obvious his ogling was as he cocked his head, a deep breath leaving him as he smiled. 

He was wearing a tight fitting grey Henley and darker charcoal colored sweatpants. Whatever he had in mind, it seemed safe to assume you weren't leaving the bunker. 

"So, this is the part where I'd like to throw you over my shoulder and carry you to your surprise," he said as he reached out for your hand. "But, seeing as I'm still a little busted up, I think if I tried that my doctor might kick my ass."

"She definitely would," you agreed with a smile as you put your hand in his. He spun you around slowly, stopping with your back to him. 

"Plan B it is. Close your eyes," he whispered, his warm breath tickling your neck. You did as he asked, feeling him wrap something over your eyes to act as a blindfold - you suspected it was a bandana - and Dean's expert fingers tied it in place.

His hands moved to your hips then, his fingers gently digging in before he turned you to face him again. Then his soft lips were moving against yours. The total darkness just intensified the experience. It was as if all your other senses kicked into overdrive. Suddenly the cool floor against your bare feet was colder, harder; the intoxicating scent of Dean was all you breathed, and the warmth coming off his body buzzed along your skin. 

His kisses were feather-light, teasing, thrilling, making you want so much more. As you felt him slowly pull back, you found yourself tilting your chin and rising up on your toes to prolong the contact. An involuntary whimper escaped your lips and he cupped your face with a hand, his thumb brushing along your lower lip. 

"God, sweetheart," he growled. "You are going to be the death of me."

Dean guided you with a supportive hand on your lower back through the bunker. You heard Sam chuckle from somewhere to your left as you walked. 

"You two need me to clear out of here for the night?" he asked, the smile evident in his tone. 

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Sammy," Dean admonished him.

"If I'm not back in a few hours send a search party," you called out to Sam.

"Traitor," Dean muttered in your ear, making you giggle as Sam's laughter echoed off the walls and faded into the background. 

When you reached your destination Dean dropped the blindfold from your eyes. You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the dim lighting as you took in the scene before you. 

"Did you build us a blanket fort?" you said with a laugh, unable to contain your excitement. 

Dean did a little one-shouldered shrug, smirking. “What can I say? Apparently you make me want to do shit like this.”

He'd arranged stools and chairs out away from the couch far enough to drape sheets and blankets into a giant tent shape. One blanket was pulled back far enough to create an opening at the front.

“I love it,” you told him, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"It gets better," he added as he gestured for you to duck inside. He followed you in, moving a little slower than usual as a result of his injuries, and you sat down, patting the spot on the blankets next to you. Dean got comfortable at your side and you gazed around to see a giant bowl of popcorn, a few beers and Dean's laptop were all inside the fort as well. "I thought we could hole up in here and watch a movie."

"This is awesome. And you pulled it off last minute. I'm impressed," you told him. 

"Not bad for a second date, huh?" he said with a grin. 

"Second?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"I told you the night we met it was our first date," he answered matter-of-factly. 

"You also told everyone in the hospital about the werewolf you were hunting,” you said with a laugh. “I thought that first date stuff was the concussion talking."

Dean shook his head. "You bought me dinner and had your hands all over me. Totally counts." You grinned at him, remembering how he'd given you the same qualifying statement as he'd sat in the hospital bed all those months ago. "And, for the record, I haven't forgotten anything about that night," he added. "Concussion or not."

"Neither have I," you told him. "And I have to say, this night is shaping up to be pretty memorable, too."

"Oh sweetheart, we're just getting started." He popped the cap on a beer bottle and handed it to you before opening one for himself. 

"To the best blanket fort I've ever seen," you toasted. 

"To second dates," he added. "Even if it took us all this time to get here."

You clinked your bottles together and each took a sip. Dean wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his good side and kissing the top of your head. 

"Worth the wait," he muttered. 

Halfway through the movie you were lying back on the pillows and Dean leaned down and pressed a soft, sweet, breath-stealing kiss to your lips. When he pulled back he gazed down at you, running his thumb lightly along your jaw. You could see the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"What?" you asked as you looked up at him. 

"Nothing. Just making sure you get your fill of staring into these ridiculously green eyes, as requested." You laughed and smacked him lightly on the chest. "Hey, I'm working on getting my fill of staring into yours, too," he added. "I don't think it's going to happen." 

And that was Dean Winchester. From sexy to snarky and right back to sexy again in 2.7 seconds flat. There was heat in his gaze now, and you took a shallow breath and bit your bottom lip. 

"Hey now, that's my job," he stated, leaning down again and catching your lip between his teeth. His tongue brushed along your bottom lip, seeking entrance, which you granted him gladly. 

There was no denying the heat between you, but there was definitely something to be said for taking it slow, even if it was only because Dean’s cracked ribs and injured shoulder called for it. You rather liked making out like horny teenagers and discovering how you and Dean fit together as a couple.

So you spent the evening in his arms under a fort of blankets and sheets, awash in the glow of his laptop, finding occasion to stare into those green eyes you would never, ever get enough of.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is more than frustrated with the time it's taking for his broken ribs to heal, but you find ways to help him get by and take his mind off it.

Dean wasn't handling the broken ribs thing very well. You hadn't expected him to, but most of the ways to distract him that ran through your mind were definitely more physical than he was ready for. It was torture for you both, knowing you couldn't do more, but you just kept telling yourself it would be that much sweeter in the end once you could finally be together.

Either that, or you'd have awkward sex that couldn't live up to the high standards both of your imaginations were conjuring up.

_Sheesh_. You were a horny mess.

Being in such close proximity to Dean for the past several weeks had you aching for release, anyway. Top that off with the fact that he'd declared his actual feelings for you, leading to a few hot, desperate and needy kisses full of longing, and you felt a little like a ticking time bomb at this point.

So make out like horny teenagers you did.

Dean found occasion throughout the days to playfully grope your ass as he passed by, or to take you by the elbow and turn you to face him, backing you up against a wall to kiss the ever-loving hell out of you.

He managed to appear cool as a cucumber in between these stolen, heated moments. But you didn't miss the way he breathed in deep as he nuzzled your neck, or the way he stifled a low moan when you let your fingers dip just inside the waist of his jeans to rest on his hip bones while he cradled your face.

It was early one evening that you found Dean in the garage, trying to make himself useful by washing his car, despite the fact that the car had already been perfectly clean and shiny from lack of recent hunting You watched from the top of the garage steps for a moment as he struggled to scrub the surface of the Impala’s black paint with a large sponge.

You wanted to step in and help, but weren’t sure if his pride would allow for it. You knew he hated being on the mend, but his ribs and shoulder were nowhere near ready for physical labor, even something as menial as a good car wash, from the looks of it.

You were still debating about whether to let him be, or to offer to help when you watched him take hold of the five gallon bucket filled with soapy water and try to move it, only to suck in air through his teeth and release a string of curse words at the pain it caused as he promptly set it down again.

He sighed and stood there, staring at the bucket as water sloshed out the top in small waves from his attempt to move it. You let your shoes make noise on the cement as you approached him from behind, not wanting to startle him in his agitated state. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you stepped up to his side.

“Hey,” you said, smiling.

“Hey,” he returned gruffly.

“Everything okay?”

He sighed. “Yeah.” Then he looked down at the sponge in his hand and thought better of it, letting out a humorless chuckle. “No…. Not really.”

“Here, you man the hose,” you told him, holding your hand out to him for the large sponge.

He hesitated, but your reluctance to give in finally made him sigh and hand it over. You dipped the sponge in the large bucket of soapy water and began washing the front passenger side window and door.

Dean walked a few steps to take a swig from the beer bottle he had nearby, picking up the hose with the spray adapter and carrying it back over to rejoin you by the car.

“I feel completely useless,” he said with a sigh as he watched you move the sponge in circular motions along the back door and window.

“You are,” you teased. “You’re no good to anyone. We should probably just put you down.”

“Haha,” he said, turning the hose in your direction and spraying a quick stream of water at you, soaking the side of your shirt.

“Hey! Do you want my help or not?” you said with an indignant laugh.

“Actually, now I’m kind of thinking a water fight would be more fun.”

“In your condition? Please. I’d just embarrass you, Winchester,” you told him.

“Rain check on the water fight then.” At least he was smiling now. He began rinsing the soap from the exterior of the car, following along behind you as you worked your way around. “Do you miss it?” he asked after a moment. “The hospital, I mean.”

You straightened and wiped your hair out of your eyes with the back of a hand. “Sometimes.”

He nodded, his face falling a little. “I imagine it’s strange not going to work everyday.”

“A little. Or, at least it was at first. Now, being here feels pretty normal.” You scrubbed the end of the car’s bumper. “I don’t regret leaving.”

“You really don’t?” Dean asked, not bothering to mask the surprise in his tone.

You stopped scrubbing and gazed at him. “Not one bit.” You turned to face him now, watching his expression. “Leaving the hospital was the right call for me. Being here with you and Sam, this is the best thing to happen to me in a long time. I have you both to thank for that. Not a day goes by that I’m not glad I’m here. I think this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Dean took a long stride that closed the space between you, reaching up with a hand to touch your cheek. “I know it is.” He bent low and pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss. You sighed into the kiss, your mouth molding to his, and breathed in the scent of him. It wasn’t until he pulled back that you saw your opportunity, and brought the soapy sponge up to the side of his face in one quick movement, covering his cheek, ear, and most of his good shoulder in soapy suds.

“Whoa, hey!” Dean hollered in surprise, shaking his head to rid himself of the suds. His green eyes grew wide as you giggled and attempted to retreat around the back of the car. “Oh, you asked for it, sweetheart,” he growled as he turned the hose on you again, catching you before you could duck around the other side.

You squealed as the cold water hit your skin and soaked through your clothes. “Totally worth it,” you called out to him, still laughing as you dipped the sponge in the bucket of soapy water again and threw it at him, nailing him on the thigh. You hadn’t dared aim any higher with his broken ribs and sore shoulder.

You heard clapping across the garage and you and Dean both looked up to see Sam grinning and walking toward you.

“Count me in,” he said as he picked up a spare sponge and tossed it to you. You caught it and dunked it in the water. Dean turned his attention away from you for two seconds to squirt the hose in Sam’s direction, but Sam was already grabbing for the hose and kinking it, foiling Dean’s attempt to defend himself. You saw your chance and launched the second sponge in Dean's direction, catching his knee this time with a squelching sound as the water soaked through the denim of his jeans.

“Alright, alright,” Dean said, feigning irritation. “Team up and pick on the gimpy guy, why don’t you. ”

“Poor baby,” you told him, smiling as you came around the car and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

You caught the glimpse of mischief in Sam’s eyes right before he released the hose, but not in time to do anything about it before Dean turned the sprayer on you, soaking you completely as you squealed and spun away from him.

You wiped your face with a hand while Sam chuckled, but Dean wasn’t finished, turning the hose on him next.

Dean smirked in satisfaction as Sam shouted in surprise and moved to hide behind the car. He was at least mostly soaked, so you weren’t alone in that as you stood there dripping.

“Serves you right, traitor,” you teased Sam,laughing. He and Dean joined in, even though the way Dean winced let you know the act of laughing didn’t feel great on his sore ribs. Sam resigned himself to help finish cleaning the car since he was wet now anyway, and the three of you joked around and washed and dried Baby to a brilliant shine before heading inside to rummage up something for dinner.

 

*******

 

Later that evening the three of you sat in the bunker’s library talking lore, Sam and Dean sharing stories. Dean hissed a little, sucking in air through his teeth as he pulled a large tome from the top of a bookcase, setting it down with a thud on the nearest table as he let out an exasperated sigh. You and Sam both watched him in concern.

“Okay, big guy?” you asked, knowing his fractured ribs must be screaming at him in protest.

“Just fan-freaking-tastic,” he muttered in an exaggerated tone.

You moved to stand in front of him, taking his hands in yours. It took some effort, but you managed not to smile at the adorable frustration on his face. “Where is the pain the worst?” you asked.

“I just - I dunno.” He glanced down at his middle and shrugged a little. “It sort of moves around. And I feel totally fine one second, and then it sneaks up on me like a son of a bitch.” He took a breath and met your gaze, sighing. “I’ll be fine.”

“Course you will,” you said. “Just takes some time. I wish there was something I could do to speed this up for you. Doctors quit taping ribs years ago because it restricts movement when you breathe, which just causes more problems. Not much else to be done, unless you're willing to take something for the pain.”

But you'd had that conversation several times already. You were convinced he'd have been willing to take something if it meant being able to be more active, but he knew that wasn't the case. Broken ribs could take up to six weeks to heal, and he knew that, too. He also knew you weren't about to watch him take pain pills and drink whiskey. And, although he hadn't drank much of it since he’d gotten hurt, he seemed to like having the option.

“I'll be fine,” he insisted, most likely seeing the worry in your eyes. “Might just go stir crazy, is all.”

“I have the perfect remedy for that, Winchester. Grab your keys and meet me in the garage in five. I could use a little fresh air myself, and I haven’t taken a ride in that gorgeous car of yours since I got here.”

Dean furrowed his brow, considering you. “God, how did I let that happen?”

“I don't know. It’s criminal.” You raised up on your toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before turning on your heel. You went to your room and changed into a pair of cutoff jeans, a tank top, and some ankle boots. You freshened up in front of the mirror for a moment, putting clear gloss on your lips and letting your hair down in loose waves.

Dean was standing by the car when you climbed the stairs into the garage. His chest heaved with a breath that was probably painful when he saw you carrying a cold beer in each hand. You felt his eyes take you in as you walked up to him. He pulled you toward him by hooking his finger in one of your belt loops, giving you a slow, hungry kiss and letting one hand wander lower to cup your ass and let you know exactly how much he liked your outfit.

He took the beer from you, using his free hand to give your ass a playful little smack that made you laugh out loud before he set the bottles in the cooler in the backseat. You sat down in the passenger side, smiling like a giddy teenager as you waited for him to climb in and start the engine.

“Where to, sweetheart?” he asked, gazing at you.

“Anywhere, or nowhere.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Surprise me.”

His gaze lingered on your face for another heartbeat or two. He smiled, gave a decisive little nod, and pulled out of the garage and onto the road. He turned on some music, but didn't turn it up too loud.

“I'm sorry about your sore ribs,” you told him as he drove.

“Ah, you know me. I'm not good at sitting around and being laid up. To be honest, I think you're the only thing that's keeping me from losing my damn mind.”

“That's a lot of pressure,” you teased. “I'll try not to buckle.”

“I happen to know from personal experience that you're good under pressure,” he added.

You grinned and rolled your window down a few inches, watching the half moon as he drove.

Not thirty minutes later you sat on the hood of the car, Dean leaning against it next to you, both of you enjoying the gorgeous country night sky.

“I don't know much about constellations,” you said to him. “But I think I recognize a pattern here with these.” You pointed to a group of stars and Dean learned toward you, trying to see from your perspective. “Yep,” you added matter-of-factly. “Those ones right there definitely match your freckles. Dean snorted and almost choked on his beer. You laughed and said, “Don't believe me? Find a mirror.”

“I think I'm blushing, but that could just be all the choking,” he said when he recovered. “Don't you worry. I'll get even with you.”

“Is that a threat?” you asked, grinning.

“Nope. That's a promise, sweetheart. Just adding it to the list of things I'm going to do to you when my ribs heal up.”

“Can’t wait,” you said to him, chewing your bottom lip.

You glimpsed his cocky smile in the moonlight as he stared out at the sky again. You took a sip from your beer bottle and the two of you sat there for a moment in comfortable silence. You leaned your head against his good shoulder and listened to the radio that could be heard from the rolled down windows of the car.

“You know, I'm pretty good at getting to know people from what I like to call a healthy distance,” you said, suddenly finding that you wanted to share with him. “When you know how much it hurts to lose people, it makes it hard to sign up for more of the same.” You sat up again and gazed at him. “God, that must sound awful.”

Dean shook his head. “Not at all. I get it. Believe me, I do,” he said softly, not one ounce of judgement in his tone.

“But you, Dean Winchester, you’ve always been different. You started to grow on me way back when you were in my hospital,” you continued. “Even concussed and a little crazy, you were pretty damn adorable.” A smile tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth at your admission, and he laced his fingers through yours. “I’d be lying if I said those green eyes of yours didn't haunt my dreams on more than one occasion.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“I like to think I would have eventually worked up the nerve to tell you, once I'd admitted it to myself, even if you hadn't put your heart on display for me.”

Dean tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and lifted your chin with a finger, pressing his lips to yours.

You leaned into him, the kiss melting away all of the tension in your body. You couldn't imagine being anywhere else right then. Things were pretty damn perfect on that little dirt road in Kansas, on the hood of a classic Chevy, in the arms of the man who held your heart. It was almost enough to make you forget the dark, heavy weight that comes with the hunting lifestyle.

You were pretty sure you could handle whatever craziness your new life would throw at you, as long as you could sneak in moments like this one in between all the chaos. Moments that would let you breathe in fully and appreciate the warm, steady heartbeat of the man next to you that had become a welcome companion to your own. Moments that reminded you why the hard times that were surely ahead were worth it. Worth all of it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gives Dean a hard time about waiting so long to confess his feelings for you.

“So,” Sam began as he and Dean sat in the bunker's library one night. Only Sam could load a single word with so much weight that Dean instantly dreaded what might follow it. “I have to admit it took you longer than I expected to come clean about your feelings with her. What the hell took you so long anyway?”

Dean cast a sideways glance at his brother. What he didn't say was that from the moment you'd arrived at the bunker he'd been equally torn in two by his desire to tell you what you meant to him, and the gut-wrenching fear that you'd wake up one morning to realize that none of this was what you really wanted.

He didn't tell Sam he'd spent the first week of your stay with them waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to come to your senses and go back home to reclaim your position at the hospital and look back at your brief stay with the Winchesters as a little vacation, a thinly-veiled existential crisis, and nothing more.

He didn't admit that he'd spent the second week wrapping his head around the fact that you actually meant to stay. That he'd moved on to expecting you to look at him differently after having spent so much time with him. Because surely your eyes wouldn't sparkle like that when they met his for long. Eventually you'd realize his jokes weren't that funny, and your laugh would begin to sound a little forced.

And then you surprised him by continually finding ways to be near him, despite all of the reasons he felt made him unlovable. He'd literally been speechless over it, grateful that his heart had managed to show you most of what he couldn't find words to say. Thank God you'd been able to translate with your fancy heart machine, even if it had thrown you for a loop. It had been a weight off his shoulders once you knew what you were doing to him.

“Just waiting for the right time, I guess,” Dean said in response to Sam's question.

“Huh.... Okay.” Sam shook his head, a disbelieving smile playing on his lips.

“What?” Dean asked, eyeing his brother.

Sam just shrugged. “I don't know. I just - I’ve never seen you like this. You're different.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Sam let out an amused chuckle. “Nothing. I’m happy for you guys. You know I am.”

And Dean did know it. Sam had done his share of teasing him about you over the months since you'd all met, but the teasing had stopped the day you'd moved in.

“What did you say to her anyway?” Sam asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Dean shook his head. “Honestly? Nothing … and - and everything.” He wiped his face with a hand. “God, I don't know. I sort of made an idiot of myself.”

Sam just grinned at him. “Well, whatever it was, it apparently worked. Just do me a favor and don't screw this up. I don't want to have to kick your ass if you hurt her, and I certainly don't want to live with your salty, sulking ass in the aftermath.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth. “You done yet?”

“I’ll do it,” Sam clarified. “Kick your ass, I mean.”

This time it was Dean who chuckled.

 

*****

 

Dean awoke with a start to the sound of you crying out. His eyes shot open, landing on the clock on his nightstand as he threw the covers back and scrambled to his feet. It was just after three in the morning.

He grabbed the 1911 he kept under his pillow and rushed from his room down the hall toward yours, throwing the door open in one swift motion as his eyes darted around frantically, searching for the cause of your distress. It only took a few seconds for him to realize you were still asleep in your bed, calling out because of something in a dream.

Sam slid to a stop at your open doorway just then, having also awoken to the sound of your cries. His face softened when he saw that Dean was already there, and he relaxed.

"Sweetheart, you're dreaming," Dean said as he sat his pistol down on your nightstand. "Hey, open your eyes." He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, cautiously reaching out to touch your arm.  
Sam ran a hand through his hair as he watched, a look of empathy playing on his features. Dean gestured with a jerk of his chin that Sam was okay to go and Sam nodded and headed back to his own room.

Dean took hold of your shoulders, gently shaking you until you stopped muttering and jolted awake. Gasping, you sat straight up in bed, eyes wildly searching the room.

"You're in the bunker. Sam and I are both here," Dean assured you. "We're all safe, sweetheart," he added, brushing your hair from your face. "Everyone's good."

You gazed up at Dean, seeing the worry in his eyes, and your first instinct was to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him close.

"Hey, I've got you," he said as you felt his strong arms come around you. "It was just a dream."

Dean could feel your heartbeat kicking violently against his own chest as he held onto you, concrete evidence of just how terrified you'd been by what you'd seen in the dream.

He understood enough of what you'd been muttering to know you were trying to save someone - someone who was hurt - but he hadn't known it was him until you'd come to. That's when he'd seen the absolute relief wash over you as you looked into his eyes.

You held onto him while your breathing leveled out, feeling his hand move up and down your back in a soothing gesture. Your grip on him relaxed a little as you felt yourself calming down, but you didn't want to be far from him. Not right now. Dean either sensed this or felt the same way, because he shifted on your bed without letting go of you, pulling you close against his good side

"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly as he pulled the blankets up to make sure you were warm enough. He slid down onto the pillows but kept you tucked up to his chest.

He held onto you for several long moments, and slowly the anxiety of the nightmare ebbed away with every deep breath.

"You want to tell me about the dream?" Dean asked softly.

You shook your head. The details were already becoming fuzzy, and you didn't want to bring them into sharp focus by trying to recount it for him. All you needed to know was that Dean was safe and healthy. And his sturdy heartbeat against your cheek was enough to assure you of that.

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling like it it wasn't nearly enough.

"Don't mention it, sweetheart." Dean pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you took another deep breath, willing the last of the panic recede with it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's insistence that you test out your new equipment in the infirmary leads to a revelation about his motives. What starts off as a little education about the education for Dean quickly turns into something heavier.

 "What are we doing?" you asked Dean as he led the way into the infirmary the next evening.  
  
"We're testing out this equipment you bought," Dean said as he began slowly peeling his shirt off.   
  
You blinked at him. "Now?"   
  
"Why not?" Dean frowned. "You got something better to do?"   
  
The short answer to that was no.  Dean was still laid up from his injuries, so the two of you had spent the better part of the day cataloging supplies in the bunker and making lists of what you needed to restock. After all that, you were fairly certain he would rather wind down with a beer and a movie than anything.   
  
"We can do this another time," you told him. You knew even the simple act of pulling his shirt over his head had aggravated his sore ribs, even if his face didn't show it.   
  
"I promised you we were going to get you fully set up in here, didn't I?" Dean countered as he dropped his shirt on the nearest sick bed.   
  
"Yeah, but-"   
  
"You aren't going to be able to relax until you have what you need and know it works," he added as he came to stand in front of you. "I don't want something keeping you up at night that can be fixed by letting me play patient for you right now."   
  
You smiled at him. This was mostly about the nightmare you'd had last night. Now you understood his urgency, and you had to admit it was nice to have someone worrying over you, even if unnecessarily.  "Careful, Winchester. I might start to think you like playing patient for me."   
  
Dean smirked and picked up your stethoscope that was lying around nearby. He looped it around your neck, using it as leverage to pull you close enough to give you a quick kiss. "Maybe I do."  He adjusted the incline and climbed onto the exam table, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him until he was comfortably situated. Then he looked at you expectantly.   
  
You sighed and gave him a disbelieving smile. “You're serious about this?”

“Damn straight. Come on, sweetheart. Wire me up. I'm sure I'll even learn a thing or two in the process."

You shook your head, realizing your were fighting a losing battle, and plugged in the power cord for the monitor that was by his side, watching as the display screen lit up. Then you made adjustments on the touch screen display to set the parameters you wanted.   
  
"I don't know how you work that thing so easily," Dean said as he observed.   
  
"Things become second nature after a while," you mused, shrugging. "You know, kind of like you and forging fake ID's."   
  
"Very funny," he quipped.   
  
"Be proud of your talents," you told him, grinning.   
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Sweetheart, if we're talking talents, forging ID's doesn't even make my top ten."   
  
You felt heat rise in your cheeks at his statement, or more accurately, at the rough edge in his voice when he spoke. You averted your gaze so he wouldn't see the way your skin had flushed, covering by using the opportunity to roll your supply cart closer.  You connected the necessary cords to the monitor and stood up, gently wrapping a new blood pressure cuff attachment around Dean's bicep. He followed your gaze to the display, watching as you made a few adjustments on the touch screen until the cuff around his arm began to inflate.  Dean's lips turned down at the corners and he gave one of those little impressed nods like he does.   
  
You then placed the pulse ox clip on his index finger on his left hand. Within seconds the readings showed. "Blood pressure is 124/82. Pulse is 60, blood oxygen saturation level at 99%," you read aloud.   
  
"Awesome."   
  
You smiled, opening the sealed package of electrode patches on the rolling cart. You peeled a patch from the sheet, placing it just below his right clavicle within the frame of his rib cage.  You placed the next electrode patch in the same spot on his left side, finishing with the third and final patch toward the lower left side of his abdomen.  You couldn't resist brushing your fingers lightly across the remnants of bruising on his skin along his rib cage. In the time since the injury, the discoloration there had all but faded. What had been deep blue and red bruising had faded to more purple and yellow as the muscle contusions that had accompanied the fractured ribs began to heal.   
  
"Hey," Dean said softly, reaching over to squeeze your fingers with his. "I'm okay."   
  
You realized you must have looked worried as you studied the effects of his cracked ribs. "I know," you said as you connected the wires to the electrodes. "Takes more than one demon to take down Dean Winchester. Am I right?" You winked at him and he cocked his head.   
  
"Damn straight."   
  
You smiled for him, making an adjustment on the monitor. "We should have telemetry showing any second here...." The little line began tracing out his heart rhythm across the top of the screen and the line below that recorded his respirations. "Aha," you said. "There we go." You grinned, watching the readout with mild fascination.   
  
Dean watched you adoringly. You were so obviously in your element ... brilliant, sexy, and he was convinced you had no idea just how much of either. "I could watch you work all day," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I can see how much you love it."

  
“I do,” you agreed. “Although I have mixed emotions about how often you and Sam are putting my skills to good use already,” you teased. You smiled at him and pointed to the top line on the monitor. "So the last two times I had an EKG on you, you were throwing PVCs," you said to him.

"PVCs?"   
  
"Premature ventricular contractions," you elaborated. "Your heart would do this little false start before some of the beats, and it would show up here as an extra dip, and the following beat would be more forceful."   
  
"What does that mean," Dean began, "You know, in terms of ... "   
  
"Your health?"   
  
Dean cocked his head a little. "Yeah. Are these PVC's a big deal? I assume if they were you would've mentioned it before now."   
  
"They seem harmless," you assured him. "Your blood pressure always reads as normal, and I've never detected anything to be concerned about when listening to your heart. Most likely they occur because of alcohol, or the fact that you're overexerting yourself."   
  
Dean nodded. “But you're not seeing any now?"   
  
"Nope." You gazed at the line tracing along to his heartbeat, pointing at a few of the waves in the pattern. "These little guys all look pretty normal."   
  
"Okay, so this new machine of yours seems to work," he said. "But how do you know what you're seeing is accurate?"   
  
You lifted your stethoscope from around your neck where Dean had hung it earlier and put it on. "By checking the timing to see if everything lines up." You warmed it in your hand briefly and then placed the diaphragm on Dean's left pec, just below his nipple.

  
You watched the monitor readout with a trained eye as each lub-dub of his heart traced across the screen, checking the peaks and valleys with the contractions of the muscle you were hearing, with the sound of the valves opening and closing as you moved the chest piece accordingly.  
  
"Strong and steady," you assured him with a smile as you moved on to auscultating his lungs. You gazed at your watch to time his respirations, which were showing accurately at a rate of 12 per minute. "Seems to be working just right," you said as you took your stethoscope off and set it on the nearby cart.  
  
"One machine down, one to go," Dean added. "Your turn?" You were sure he was mostly joking as he raised an eyebrow at you, but you considered him, removing the electrode wires from his chest.   
  
He had been such a good sport, how the hell were you supposed to resist those poison green eyes? You unwrapped the BP cuff and set it on the cart, accepting the finger clip as he handed it over.   
  
"Why the hell not?" you said with a grin, enjoying the look on Dean's face as he tried to figure out if you were pulling his leg. You suppressed a smile and gently peeled the electrode patches from his skin. You moved the first monitor aside and powered it down, rolling the second one over and plugging it in so you could make adjustments on the screen.  
  
You plugged in all the attachments to the back of the machine. Then you wrapped your thumbs in the hem of your tee shirt and pulled it directly over your head, dropping it for effect. It was a power move, and you met his gaze and held it brazenly, standing there in just your jeans and black bra. You studied his face as he took you in, saw his Adam's apple bob slightly as he swallowed hard.   
  
The two of you hadn't really done more than make out as Dean's injuries had forced you to take things slow. You didn't mind for the most part. In fact, you liked that the two of you were getting a chance to know each other in this new way before things got that intense.  
  
Although that look in Dean's eyes as he gazed at you just now was quite intense.  
  
He slipped off the exam table and you hopped up on it. His tongue snaked out to wet his lips, and he dragged his bottom lip with his teeth. You were enjoying the fact that he seemed torn between not knowing what to do next and not being able to tear his eyes off you.   
  
"Let's see how well you paid attention, Winchester."  
  
Dean smirked like a man on a mission and picked up the blood pressure cuff. He gently wrapped it around your arm, securing it in place.   
  
You reached up, selecting a button on the screen and the cuff began to inflate on your arm. Dean put the pulse ox clip on your finger and looked expectantly at the display screen.   
  
Your pulse displayed at 68 beats per minute, and your blood pressure came in at 115/78.  
  
Dean's brow furrowed studiously as he gazed at the readings, but he didn't speak. After a moment he turned to the rolling cart and rummaged for a new set of electrode patches. He opened the bag and peeled the backing from the first one.  
  
You saw the raw determination in his eyes, accompanied by a hint of something you couldn't quite place. Mischief, maybe?  
  
Dean's thumb went just inside your right bra strap, lightly lifting it away from your skin and trailing along slowly, tortuously, until he reached the top of your shoulder. He then slid the strap over until it fell off your shoulder, giving him better access to the area.   
  
The simple act had been far more sensual than you'd have imagined possible, but then, that was his plan, wasn't it?   
  
Dean had managed to steal back all the power in the room in one simple gesture. It frustrated you almost as much as it turned you on.  
  
Your breathing had quickened, as had your pulse, but Dean either hadn't noticed yet, or he was enjoying it without mention. You couldn't for the life of you tell which. He gently pressed the first electrode patch to the skin below your right clavicle, just like you'd done to him. His positioning of it was spot on, and you felt your lips turning up in a half smile.   
  
"Looks like you did pay attention," you said to him.   
  
"Sweetheart, I'm always paying attention."  
  
Your pulse kicked up a little higher, coming in at 74 now. It wasn't a huge shift, but it was noticeable. You couldn't decide whether you loved or hated that your body was betraying you right there on the screen for Dean to observe. This was not how you'd imagined things playing out.  
  
Dean's expert fingers were slowly nudging your other bra strap aside now, brushing gently along your skin and leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He placed the electrode patch across from the first, exactly where it belonged. The third and final one was trickier, but you resisted the temptation to instruct him further until you knew whether or not he needed it.   
  
He splayed his fingers out across the side of your abdomen on your left side, fingers lightly feeling along your rib cage. His movements were intentional, unhurried, and the feel of his warm, strong hand there made you feel vulnerable and excited all at once.   
  
He brought the last electrode patch to the inside of your rib cage, at a height just above where your belly button was. His fingers hovered there holding it just above your skin. His green eyes met yours, a hint of a question flashing in them. You gave him a small nod, confirming that his placement was correct. He pressed the patch into place and you took a deep breath to try and pull your focus in.

“White on right. Smoke over fire,” you told him, reciting the mnemonic often used to help with remembering EKG lead placement.

He handled the 3 wire configuration, making quick sense of your hint, and attached the white, black and red electrodes to their corresponding positions. You made another selection on the monitor screen and relaxed against the table again as both of you waited for the EKG telemetry to begin tracing. It did almost immediately, blipping out a slightly hurried pace to match your pulse. Dean gave a satisfied smirk and his gaze came to rest on your face.

He brought a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb softly there as he leaned down to speak softly in your ear. His voice was low, gravely, and sent delicious chills through you. “Hold still for me, sweetheart. Let's see just how accurate this thing is."  
  
You swallowed, certain now that he’d heard your heart jump at his statement. His fingers trailed down to your throat, pressing to your carotid as he felt the flutter of your pulse. You closed your eyes and his lips brushed along yours unexpectedly. Dean nibbled on your bottom lip, sucking, licking, tasting you like it was what he lived for. Your little heart beat furiously in your chest, partially a result of being on display, so you did the only thing that made sense and kissed him back. You sucked his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping lightly in response to the heat that was spreading through your entire core. You were only mildly aware of the blood pressure cuff inflating around your arm again, taking a reading that would surely show your heightened state of excitement. Your chest heaved when Dean pulled back, and you watched with bated breath as he gazed at the monitor briefly and then reached for your stethoscope and put it on. He slid the bell just underneath the material of your bra to rest near the apex of your heart. You watched his face, saw his eyelids close for a second while he listened.   
  
You knew exactly what he was hearing, because the soft beeps emitting from the monitor were getting closer and closer together with every touch, every kiss, every breath-stealing glance from him. When he opened his eyes again he gave you a shit-eating grin, as if you couldn't already tell how much he was loving making you melt like this. He slowly leaned down to cover your mouth with his again, the bell of the stethoscope held firmly in place by your bra. He kissed you softly, slowly, deliberately. Then you felt his hand on your thigh, trailing a teasing pattern along the denim of your jeans, closer and closer to your center, only to trail back down again while his lips moved against yours. You kissed him back with fervor, not caring anymore that the EKG was spilling all of your secrets with its constant stream of beeping. Your heart rate was in the triple digits now. You could tell that much just by listening with a trained ear as it played on in the background.   
  
Dean's hand left your thigh and moved slowly up your stomach until he reached your bra again. Careful not to catch on the EKG connections, he cupped your right breast through your bra, his fingers dancing on the sensitive skin just above the material there.  Your heart rate jumped at least another ten beats per minute as he palmed you, and you gasped against his mouth. Dean cursed under his breath and his eyes closed again, you could only assume it was because he was focusing on the sound of your heartbeat in his ears.   
  
You smiled, your chest heaving. Then Dean looked at you and took the stethoscope off, carefully putting the earpieces in your ears. He left the bell tucked up under your bra briefly, just long enough for you to get a good listen to your own heart thumping against your ribs. You had to admit it was a complete turn on, impressive even, that he'd done this to you in such a short time without really doing anything new. He gently pulled the bell from under your bra and raised it to his own chest. The sound of his heart hammering flooded your ears. Your eyelids closed briefly as you enjoyed the sweet sound.

Then it was gone.

Dean had dropped the chest piece and was busying himself with pushing buttons on the monitor screen. 

You took the stethoscope off and sat up the rest of the way. "What are you-"   
  
But Dean's victorious exclamation of "Aha!" cut your sentence short as the machine began printing a strip of your EKG reading.   
  
You grinned at him in curiosity, laughing when he said, "Now I have my own souvenir," as he tore the strip of paper off and gazed at it adoringly.   
  
You shook your head at the childlike fascination in those green eyes of his. He really was too much.   
  
Sam's voice made both of your heads snap up, following the sound to the doorway.   
  
"Everything okay in here?" Sam asked warily. He looked like he didn't know whether to be concerned or amused by the scene before him.   
  
"New equipment works," Dean offered, not even slightly phased by Sam's sudden appearance in the infirmary while you were sitting there in your jeans and bra.   
  
Sam let out a breath that was part chuckle, part exasperation. "Good to know." Then he tapped the door frame twice with a hand and said, "I brought dinner ... if you two are done playing doctor."   
  
Your cheeks flushed a little at the raise of his eyebrow and the twitch of a smile playing on his lips as he turned to go. It wasn't until you moved to detach yourself from the monitor that you realized how fast your heart was still beating, blaring in tiny quickened bleeps that echoed off the infirmary walls.  The last two minutes were borderline humiliating. God, Sam knew he had walked in on something much more intimate than just an equipment check. You hopped off the exam table and pulled your shirt over your head again with a sigh.   
  
Dean was holding the EKG printout in one hand, but he caught your wrist with the other. "Hey, relax," he said with a small smile. "Then again, you are adorable when you're all flustered."   
  
You smacked him on his good shoulder, but couldn't help smiling right along with him as you turned the monitor off. Dean folded the readout, tucked it into his back pocket, and picked up his t-shirt to follow you out of the infirmary for dinner.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time alone at the bunker leads to you and Dean taking your relationship to the next level.

It was laundry day. You'd donned a pair of blue scrubs that afternoon while you washed all of your other clothes. You’d meant to change out of them long before evening came, but you'd been caught up studying and had almost forgotten to dry the last load.

Sam had called out to you that he was taking off for a while as he passed through the war room on his way to the garage. You'd glanced up from your stack of books and the notebook you’d been scribbling in long enough to tell him bye, assuming he was heading out for some air.

You were still standing at the table in the war room, shuffling through the pages of a large tome and comparing the text to another book when Dean's arms wrapped around your waist from behind. You grinned, feeling his whiskers tickle the sensitive skin of your neck as he leaned down to speak low in your ear.

“Hey, Doc.” His lips brushed lightly on your throat, peppering slow, feather-light kisses there.

“Mmm…. Hey there, Winchester.” You leaned back against him, feeling his fingers tuck just inside the bottom of your scrub top to graze along your stomach.

“I don't have an appointment, but we have the place all to ourselves tonight and I'm hoping you'll squeeze me in.” The rough edge to his voice as he growled the words in your ear made your knees weak.

“Oh yeah? What seems to be the problem?” you managed, a little breathless.

“Got hurt on the job a couple of weeks ago … and I'm feeling a lot better now.” He slowly let his teeth graze along your pulse point. “But I don't think my girlfriend will have sex with me until I get a clean bill of health.”

“Is that so?”

“The problem is that she's wearing this sexy little blue number, and a man's heart can only endure so much torture before it’s bound to stop all together.”

You slowly turned in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and gazing up into those green eyes that made your insides mush. “Well, we can't have that, can we? I guess this calls for a thorough examination.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he gripped your ass with both hands and lifted you up onto the table. “Oh, I think so.”

“Your shoulder appears to have good strength and range of motion,” you mused as he stepped up closer, parting your knees to stand between them. “I’ll need you to remove your - ” But you were cut off by Dean's hand cupping your cheek and his head dipping low. His lips met yours, effectively stealing your breath and your train of thought.

Dean’s mouth was warm and soft and perfect moving against your own. He pulled your lower lip between his. His hands came to rest on the table top on either side of you as he continued to kiss you, eliciting a moan from your throat. When he finally released your mouth you sucked in a breath of air, eyes trained on his. Dean held your gaze as he reached over his head and gripped his Henley with a hand, tugging it off in one smooth motion.

That's right. You'd been about to ask him to take it off for your … uh, exam. He stood there brazenly, chest heaving a little. God he was beautiful. And broad. And strong. And he looked a little wrecked, which made that tug in your belly pull that much harder.

_This is happening_ , you thought. _It’s finally happening…._

You'd shaved every morning this week in anticipation of this very moment. You’d suspected Dean was healed up enough now to do more than make out on the couch like teenagers, but you hadn't had any time alone. At least not time that Sam wouldn't have been just down the hall. God, at least laundry day had forced you to wear your fancy date night black bra and some lace panties. And the scrubs weren't ideal by any means, but apparently they were doing it for him.

You brought a hand to Dean's chest and brushed your fingers along the skin, trailing over to his side where the demon had cracked several of his ribs before. You watched Dean's eyelids fall closed at your touch. You smiled in satisfaction and leaned forward, bringing your lips to the part of his rib cage that had taken the most damage. You kissed him there softly, letting your lips linger on the spot far longer than was necessary.

“Any tenderness there?” you whispered, still playing along.

“No,” he breathed.

You glanced up to see his mouth part on a breath as you moved down a bit and placed another kiss to his skin. “What about here?”

He let out a little sigh, one hand tangling in your hair. “ ... Definitely not.”

You reached around him, hands on his muscular back, pulling him as close to you as possible. Then you leaned your ear to his chest, hearing the sturdy, forceful thump of his heart. “Your heart rate is definitely elevated, but the rhythm is steady,” you mused as you listened. “I suspect your blood pressure might be a little high, but I think we can chalk that up to white coat hypertension.”

Dean took a deep breath and you leaned back, grinning up at him in satisfaction at the way your words were obviously affecting him. You trailed kisses across his side and up to the center of his chest where you pressed an open-mouthed kiss, feeling his heart kick back against your lips.

“Goddammit sweetheart,” he growled, fingers tightening in your hair. “I hope you know what you do to me.”

You looked up at him from under your lashes. “Show me.”

You didn't have to ask twice. Dean pulled your scrub top over your head gently, dropping it to the floor. With one arm around you he lifted you until your hips rose off the table, just far enough that he could ease your pants under your bottom before setting you down again. He knelt as he tugged your socks - and finally your pants - off before he rose to full height again. You felt warmth rise in your cheeks as his eyes drank you in. He only stared for a moment, and then his hands moved to your waist, lifting you as you wrapped your legs around his middle and your arms around his neck. His mouth crashed on yours in a hungry kiss.

This kiss…. It was different than all the others you and Dean had shared up to this moment. You were all at once the most at ease and the most tense you’d ever been. You wondered at the contrast of it, wondered if it might tear you apart.

You also didn't care.

Dean Winchester was carrying you to your bedroom to make everything right in the world.

Somehow you'd always known it would come to this. That you and Dean belonged together. That he understood you in ways you had never understood yourself. And your ability to effortlessly translate all the things he could say to you with just a glance, the crook of an eyebrow, the bite of his lip, wasn't something you took lightly.

He toed your bedroom door open with his foot and maneuvered you through the doorway before gently placing you on the bed. It was one graceful motion, the way he laid you out on the blankets and was crawling over you at the same time. You ran your hands along the broad muscles of his chest, shoulders, arms. Muscles earned by a man who had fought for his life over and over. Who had fought for yours already once.

It was different being able to look at him like this, to fully appreciate the dips and curves in the planes of his stomach, pecs, arms, and those shoulders that could ruin you. To be able to gaze at him without abandon, with an eye trained only toward his beauty, putting aside any thoughts that bent toward your clinical knowledge of the human body. To fully appreciate Dean for the charming, confident, sexy man he was.

His tongue mapped out a path from your belly button to your bra while one hand cupped your breast, kneading your flesh through the black lace. Then he was kissing your neck, his scruff burning lightly as he moved.

You worked at undoing his belt, eagerly releasing it. Encouraged by your enthusiasm, Dean slid an arm behind your neck and pulled you up against him, cradling you to his chest as he sat back. You kissed him hungrily, relaxing your body against him, feeling the substantial bulge through his jeans against your most sensitive parts. Rocking your hips back and forth slightly, you coaxed a satisfying gasp from him. You grinned and Dean smiled back before pulling your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth slowly as he released it.

God, the only thing better than watching him bite that bottom lip of his was having him bite yours.

His fingers searched out the clasp on your bra, releasing it so the material went slack, the bulk of it trapped between your chest and his.

You leaned back and Dean slid it down so you could pull your hands free. He tossed the bra behind him with abandon, wasting no time as he tucked his head down to nuzzle at your breast. His nose lightly skimmed your flesh, causing you to shudder in delight. His open mouth hovered there, warm breath fanning out and sending a tingling jolt straight to your core. He placed a kiss over your sternum, just as you'd done to him in the war room.

But then his hands were on you instead, cupping you, taking the full weight of your breasts in his palms and brushing thumbs across your nipples. You threw your head back, biting down on your lip and rolling your body against him once. He responded by cradling your head with a hand, lowering you and spreading you out on the blankets before him once more. You could feel his perfect mouth sucking at the skin around your nipple. Teasing. Savoring…. You arched your back, hoping to entice him to wrap those perfect lips around the sensitive bud. He eagerly obliged, drawing a moan out of you. Eyes falling shut, you focused on the sensation of him suckling you. On the heat pooling between your legs. You breathed deeply, squirming beneath him, hips wiggling as you yearned for him to move lower.

Dean ran calloused, unhurried fingers along the sensitive skin on your side, tracing a pattern that ended with him sliding a hand into your panties. Your quick intake of breath made him release your nipple to look up at your face. Your lips were parted and you met his intense gaze wantonly. Dean’s fingers hovered at the skin just above your slit, prolonging the inevitable. It was glorious torture. And _damn_ , he was good at it.

You carded your fingers in his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp with your nails. He took your other nipple in his mouth, this time letting his teeth graze along it. A whimper escaped your lips and he growled hungrily in response and took more of your breast in his mouth. Only then did his fingers dip into your folds, gliding through the slick he’d already coaxed from you. Your breath hitched, catching in your throat at the feel of his fingers there. He was almost still, like the ghost of movement, but not enough to create any fiction or recognizable pattern beyond just being there. Right in that vulnerable spot that's hot and wet and craving.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he urged, an edge of satisfaction in his voice. You hadn't realized he'd released your nipple until then, but before you could process his words he bit down on it lightly, which forced you to suck down another breath.

The sensations flooding through you were dizzying. You were overwhelmed by Dean. The taste of him. The scent of him. The heat of him against your skin. He was everywhere. It was all that mattered.

He slid down your body, taking his time … kissing, licking, touching with a splayed hand along your ribcage. Then he pulled his other hand away from your center, drawing a whine of protest from your lips. But it was only long enough for him to grip the material of your panties and slide them off, pulling your legs straight up until he'd freed you from your last bit of clothing. You whimpered, chest heaving, and lifted your head just far enough to look down.

He parted your legs almost reverently and settled himself between them, looking like a man who was about to tuck into his last meal. Your skin flushed with heat all over at the sight of him looking like he wanted to devour you. His hot breath on you made your thighs tremble in anticipation.

_Oh god…_

He ran his lips slowly along your lower ones, his scruff burning pleasantly along the sensitive skin there.

“Damn, sweetheart. I could live and die right here,” he groaned, his voice thick with arousal.

“I - I wouldn't try to talk you out of it,” you breathed.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the crease of your thigh. Then he slid his hands under your ass and lifted it a few inches off the bed before you felt his smooth, wet tongue glide up your center.

Your hips bucked of their own volition, a reaction that only seemed to drive him on. That tongue of his worked you into a frenzy, feeling strong and round one second, then soft and flat the next. There was no indistinguishable pattern to the assault he launched, but it effectively lit all of your nerves up like a firework show. Dean was persistent, if not predictable. He had you guessing, not allowing your sensitive flesh to adjust to one sensation before rolling into the next.

Your breath was coming in ragged waves, leaving you light-headed, and that was before he set your bottom flat on the bed again and eased two fingers into you slowly, stretching you, exploring you from the inside out. The noises falling from your lips were incoherent whimpers, moans, needy little sounds that encouraged Dean's feasting on you. His fingers scissored you, shaping you into something molded perfectly for him. You didn't even know how perfect just yet, but he knew what he was doing. His tongue worked with tiny flicking motions that made your thighs quake and your heart gallop.Then his fingers curled upward, dragging in a way that had you gripping his hair hard with your fingers in an effort to anchor yourself to the bed, if only not to float away in the glorious torment of it all.

Then Dean Winchester latched that glorious, sinful mouth of his onto that little bundle of nerves at your center and sucked. Hard.

Your back arched, hands fisting the sheets. You thought you might split in two at the force of the the tremors that rippled through your core, pleasure washing everything else away in the world.

His tongue lapped at you, gently soothing where you were swollen and sensitive. Your chest heaved, heartbeat trying to slow as you recovered from your orgasm. Dean left you momentarily to shed his jeans and boxers. Then his fingers were twisting inside you again, rubbing, pumping, still stretching you intently. You hadn't caught your breath yet when he rose up to crawl over you, fingers still manipulating you on the inside as he kissed your mouth, taking care to pull back every few seconds to allow you to draw oxygen into your lungs.

You reached for him, cupping his face with one hand and using the other to trace along the length of him. You watched his face as he gasped at the feel of your hand on him. Dean Winchester was sexier than any man had business being, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer ecstasy that jolted through you when his blazing green eyes snapped up to lock on yours.

In that moment you knew no other man would ever be able to live up to this…. To the way you felt when he looked at you like that. To him.

Dean caught your mouth again, tongues sliding, lips brushing, teeth grazing. When he pulled back to let you breathe he latched onto your nipple. It was like he couldn't stand to have his mouth off of you for more than a few seconds at a time. You were sure as hell on board with that plan.

“You're - you're the sexiest damn thing I've ever seen,” he said, staring into your eyes brazenly.

“You make me feel that way,” you admitted breathlessly, feeling the truth of your words as you spoke them.

He rubbed against that spongy sweet spot inside you with his fingers, drawing a whimper from you and watching your face for your reaction. You gasped and gently drew your fingers up the length of him, teasing, dragging slowly and causing a delicious shudder to ripple through his muscles. He withdrew his fingers from you, and you moaned softly at the loss, wrapping your hand around his shaft and squeezing firmly in protest.

Dean's mouth opened in surprise, his eyes falling closed for a second. You bit your lip and put your hands on his shoulders, waiting for him to meet your gaze before you said, “I need you inside me, Winchester, but dammit I want to enjoy the view.”

Dean’s eyes widened and a smirk stretched across his lips. He rolled, pulling you over with him and giving you the momentum you needed to pull yourself up. You threw a leg over his waist, straddling him and taking a moment to enjoy the sight of him lying beneath you like that.

Naked. Vulnerable. Eager.

You rolled your hips forward, coating him in your slick. Dean grunted, eyes falling closed, fingers digging lightly into the flesh at your hips. Palms flat on his chest now, you could feel his heart thrumming as you leaned forward and rose up. You couldn't tear your gaze away from his face. His green eyes were blazing, fixed on yours. He pulled in a quick breath, sucking air through his teeth as you lined him up with your center and slowly sank onto him. In spite of the time he'd spent trying to prepare you for his size, a satisfying burn accompanied the stretch as you took him deep inside you. A brief thought flitted through your mind about how you'd be walking around feeling empty in comparison after this.

You couldn't help the breathy moan that spilled from your lips as he bottomed out inside you. You rolled your hips forward and back in a slow pattern that had Dean closing his eyes and taking shallow, uneven breaths. Your movements were more about changing the angle than pumping up and down, but Dean seemed to be enjoying it, if the way he was biting his bottom lip and gripping your hips was any indication.

This was what you wanted. To enjoy the beautiful sight of him falling apart beneath you.

You pulled completely off then, and his eyes shot open as you glided along the length of him, feeling that bundle of nerves in your center begin to light up again a little at the contact. You were swollen, thick with desire, effectively trapping him between your folds with steady, torturous grazing motions. You leaned down and kissed him deeply, enjoying the taste of him and the feel of your chest pressed to his. You sucked his lower lip into your mouth and tilted your hips to line up with him again, sinking down onto him again as you released his lip with a little pop. Dean grunted, a primal, guttural sound that caused a shiver to run through you. You rocked back a few inches, then snapped your hips forward, creating a rhythm that made it feel like he was bottoming out with every forward thrust.

The friction was just enough to invite that coil in your stomach to tighten again. You rocked back and forth as Dean's hands danced along your skin, massaging, provoking, worshiping.

"Feels so good," you whimpered, closing your eyes to focus on the sensations running through you.

"Yeah?" Dean breathed, the pad of his thumb brushing over your clit. Your hips bucked in response and he began stroking a pattern that had your skin flushing with heat and made it harder to keep up a steady pace on top of him.

You rocked over and over, taking him in as hard and deep as you could. Then, without warning you felt Dean's stomach muscles bunch and ripple beneath your fingers as he sat up. He cradled your head with a hand, twisting far enough to tuck and roll you onto your back. You giggled in surprise as your head hit the pillow.

Dean gave you a sexy smirk, his voice rough and deep as he said, "Hey, Doc."

Your eyelashes fluttered as you met his heated gaze, feeling light as air. "Hey there, Winchester."

He bent low to kiss your mouth, easing deep into you again and making you gasp as you clung to his shoulders. He broke the kiss then, eyes locked on you, gauging your reactions. He watched your parted lips and your heaving chest as he plunged in and out, in and out, shifting the angle based on your expression and the noises falling from your mouth.

It was all at once the most satisfied and the most wanting you'd ever been. You were at war with yourself, and Dean fueled the fire with every thrust.  
He just felt so damn good.

It started out as a light flutter, and your hazy brain was slow to comprehend, but your body knew, reacting to Dean in the way he gently demanded from you. The flutter gave way to a dull, needy ache, which soon escalated to a sharp, delicious throbbing between your legs.

You weren't even sure how he was doing it exactly, but the way his hips ... oh god....

A keening sound escaped your lips, and Dean realized as you writhed beneath him that you were on the edge of something.

_Again._

Mouth open, breath coming in quick and shallow, you didn't have one second to decide whether or not you were prepared for another round before Dean's thumb brushed across your cheek softly, drawing your attention. His green eyes stared into yours as he said, "Relax, sweetheart. Just breathe into it. I've got you."

You found yourself nodding at him as you pulled in a deep breath and exhaled. He snapped his hips forward and your walls clenched mercilessly around him, pulsing, setting off the chain reaction that led to him releasing inside you two thrusts later. He cursed under his breath as his whole body went rigid. You were still contracting around him, milking every ounce of pleasure from you both as you bit down on his shoulder. You squeezed your eyes shut, immersed in the glorious surging. In the ebb and flow.

Dean sucked down a breath, his body shuddering with the aftershocks as they rippled through him, each one intensified by your continued throbbing. You were spent, drunk on the sensations coursing through you.

Dean finally allowed himself to rest most of his weight on top of you, his breath coming hard and fast as he tried to come down. You were blissfully trapped beneath the solid weight of him, his heart hammering against your rib cage in a way that made the beats impossible to distinguish from your own.

You decided that was only fitting, since your heart was one-hundred percent Dean Winchester's. There was no hope for you. Not now. Not ever. And yes, this was only a night - one small span in the frame of time - but you were sure as hell never going to be the same for it.

An involuntary whimper spilled from your lips as Dean gently pulled out and rolled to the side, pulling you close against him and wrapping his arms around you.

After a moment, when you'd both had a chance to catch your breath, he pulled back far enough to press a sweet, soft kiss to your lips. He brushed a strand of hair from your face and those green eyes pierced right through you when he spoke. "I love you so damn much." You narrowed your eyes, a smile spreading across your lips as you searched his face. "I mean it," he added, for clarification. "You mess me up in ways no one ever has. It's exciting, and unnerving, and scary as hell. But it's the truth.... I need you to know that."

This time it was you that kissed him, deep and slow and connected. When you pulled apart you were both a little breathless. You slowly traced the perfect little v on his top lip with your fingertips and said, "I love you, too, Winchester. I have for longer than you know." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he leaned in then, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You are absolutely going to ruin me," you told him as you snuggled close.

Dean's intense gaze didn't falter as his fingertips trailed along the curve of your jaw. "Dammit sweetheart, serves you right. You ruined me a long time ago."

You’d never felt more alive, more connected to another human being than you did with him.

You knew better than most what type of horrors he’d seen in his life, the heart-wrenching anguish he’d surely felt over and over - Dean had literally been to hell and back - and yet, he was able to open up completely here with you, sharing something as intimate and passionate as this with you.

That was when you realized you might just be starting to really live for the first time in what felt like forever, thanks to him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Dean can't seem to get enough of each other, but taking advantage of having the bunker to yourselves just seems like a good idea at the time.

Dean was hesitant to open his eyes when he woke the next morning. An irrational fear that the night before had been a figment of his imagination gnawed at his brain, because things this good didn't happen to a Winchester. A woman like you, sexy and smart and driven, could never actually love a guy like him.

But goddammit, if this closeness … this level of trust and openness, and downright vulnerability he found reflecting back in your eyes when he looked at you weren't the foundations of love, then what the hell was it? 

He took a breath and opened his eyes, relief coursing through his veins at the sight of you sleeping on the pillow next to him. It was too good to be true. Yet, here you were, still and peaceful and just as beautiful as ever. He'd been captivated by you from the beginning, and despite knowing romance and relationships weren't in the cards for him, he'd daydreamed about those things. You'd done that to him. Made him feel like a dreamer in a world where he was constantly surrounded by living, breathing nightmares.

During the long drives on the highway in the Impala while Sam either snored on the seat next to him, or had his nose in a book, Dean had carelessly imagined moments just like this one. He'd wondered how it would feel to wrap you up in his arms in more than just a friendly embrace. He'd imagined the sweetness of pressing his lips to your warm, soft mouth. He'd longed to breath in your scent, letting it wash over him to carry away his anxiety. He'd yearned to take care of you in all ways. 

Dean smiled to himself just then, watching your chest rise and fall with each soft breath you drew, until he could no longer help himself and draped an arm over your waist, pulling the two of you closer together. You smiled lazily, eyes still closed, and snuggled up to his chest, feeling his lips brush against your forehead in greeting.

“Hey there, Winchester,” you whispered.

“Morning sweetheart,” he answered, voice gravelly. 

“Sleep okay?” you asked.

“Best sleep I've had, like, ever.” God, it was the truth.

You grinned. “Mmmm…. Same.”

“Remind me again why I haven't been waking up to this view every single morning for the last several weeks,” Dean said, lightly rubbing a hand up and down your arm. 

“Because you were on the mend and you couldn't handle it.”

He grunted in mock offense. “What makes you so sure?” 

“Well, this, for one,” you said with a soft laugh as you slid your hand lower in the blankets and gently wrapped it around the rigid length of him.

“It’s morning,” Dean scoffed. “It happens.”

You grinned and gazed up at him. “Yes it does. Along with other things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, I could tell you or I could just show-” 

Dean cut your sentence short by pressing his lips to yours. He felt you hum against his mouth in satisfaction and he moved his hand to cup your ass, loving the feel of your supple, naked skin against his under the sheets. Then your hand was moving up and down his length, and an irrepressible shudder rippled through him, forcing him to break the kiss. 

He slid down low enough to nuzzle at your breast, pulling your nipple into his mouth. Your quick release of a breath encouraged him and he suckled at you, sliding his hand around from your ass to lift your leg and rest it over his hip. Now that he had access, his fingers moved between your thighs. He released your nipple and kissed your mouth again hungrily, driven by your continued stroking and groping. His slid a finger between your folds, gasping and pulling back to smirk at you when he felt your thumb glide playfully over his tip. 

“I love you,” he said as he gazed at you. 

His heart skipped a beat when you smiled and said, “You'd better.”

Dean’s hands were good for a lot of things … carving sigils into ammo slugs, fixing the Impala, gripping a blade, or twisting the cap off a long neck bottle, but he was convinced now there was no better use for those hands than to make sinful sounds fall from your lips as his fingers worked you into a breathless frenzy. 

His movements were languorous, merciless, fueled by the patience of a man who understood the importance of living in the moment, and who did it well. He cherished every bated, stuttering breath that broke through your lips. Every longing whimper. Every tremble of your thighs against his hand. The little yearning buck of your hips. The heated flush in your cheeks as you surrendered to his touch. He was actually a little relieved when your concentration broke completely, preventing you from stroking him any longer. He was getting close. But your fingers were wrapped tightly around him now as you squirmed. He'd been on the edge, and it wasn't time for that yet. He couldn't help it. Hearing and seeing you fall apart in his hands was doing things to him. He made a mental note to do this again - this side by side in the sheets sex that meant he got to hold you close to him the entire time.

God, it was something else. You were something else. 

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he encouraged when he knew you were close. 

Your eyes opened and fixed on his, brows knitting slightly as your lips parted on a breath. His fingers quickened against your most sensitive parts, and within the space of a few heartbeats he felt your body tighten, back arching as a wave of pleasure rolled over you. He felt your nails dig into his shoulder, watched your eyes squeeze tightly shut, and he tried like hell to memorize the look of pure bliss that washed over your features. He swore under his breath, fairly certain you were too caught up in absolute pleasure to hear him. But the blissed out expression on your face was quickly replaced with fire when your eyes opened again, and you wrapped your hand around his length once more, this time with urgent need. 

Dean couldn't help the guttural moan that tore from his throat while he gripped your ass and pulled you closer still. Your hand was in his hair now as he lined up with your center and slowly eased into you. He grunted in surprise when you rolled your hips,watching your face, eyes drawn to the way you bit your bottom lip as you adjusted to his size. He was pulsing furiously inside of you, though he hadn't begun moving yet. The little nod you gave him was all the encouragement he needed, and he descended into a steady rhythm of slowly thrusting in and out. The sensations were almost overpowering. Tight, smooth, wet, molten. His fingers gently dug into the flesh at your hips while he rolled his own forward and back, sliding in and out of you at a pace that was torturously slow and controlled. 

The first time you'd made love it had been all about pent up sexual tension and exploring each other's bodies, discovering what brought pleasure to you both. This morning it was all about being close, connecting, and taking what you needed from each other. 

His chest heaved with his quickening breath, his eyes locked with yours as you placed a hand on the side of his face, cupping his cheek. And holy shit, he was close. So close….

He closed his eyes as you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. You were still locked in the passionate kiss when he came with a final jolting thrust inside of you, his whole body going rigid with the force of it.

Dean felt you break the kiss, your arms coming around him as he rode out the aftershocks, tucking his head in the crook of your neck. He stayed there, utterly spent, feeling your pulse fluttering against his cheek and your fingers raking lightly through his hair as you whispered in his ear that you loved him, too. His throat was tight, so much so that he didn't dare speak for fear that his voice would crack. The two of you lay unmoving in comfortable silence, wrapped up in each other for a long moment. When he finally lifted his head to meet your gaze you were smiling at him, and he leaned in to kiss you, putting everything he couldn't vocalize behind the gesture and hoping you understood. 

He pulled back, watching you fervently as you brushed your finger along his lips and then traced the outline of his jaw where he knew you loved the feel of his scruff tickling your skin. The serenity of the moment was only broken by the sound of Dean's stomach growling loudly. His eyes grew wide in response, darting back and forth guiltily and making you laugh out loud. 

“Someone worked up an appetite,” you teased. He chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose. “I'll go whip us up some breakfast,” you added with a smile. 

Dean watched as you pulled a tee shirt over your head and slipped on a pair of shorts before heading to the doorway. He sighed in content, running a hand through his tousled hair, choosing to forcibly ignore the voice in the back of his mind that whispered cynically that nothing this good ever lasts for long. 

The same voice that he'd been actively trying to shut down for weeks. The one that gnawed at him like the dull, incessant sinking feeling in his stomach that was a constant reminder that people he cared about were bound to eventually get hurt, or worse….


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has the worst timing. Ever.

Dean joined you in the kitchen as you put on a pot of coffee. He insisted on cooking the bacon while you fried eggs and made toast. The two of you sat at the table together, and you found yourself stealing glances at him as you ate.

“Sam crash somewhere else last night?” you asked.

“He did if he knows what's good for him.” Dean smirked as he bought his cup of coffee to his mouth to sip.

It was hard to argue with that logic.

You let yourself imagine for a moment what the conversation between he and Dean might have been like yesterday. The eyebrow wagging and inappropriate hand gestures Dean had probably employed to demonstrate to his younger brother why he should make himself scarce. Poor Sam. You could just see him insisting he could take a hint as he scrambled to take the keys and his overnight bag and escape the bunker as fast as humanly possible.

You made a mental note to do something special for Sam as a thank you. It was the least you could do. He'd been so great about you and Dean being together. You supposed he'd have known just as you and Dean had that it was inevitable.

“Sometimes this all feels like a dream,” you admitted as you moved a bit of egg around on your plate with a fork. Dean's brows knitted together as he chewed a piece of bacon. He seemed hesitant to meet your gaze. You didn't understand the almost instant shift in his demeanor and felt the need to clarify your statement. “You and I … being together like this.” You reached out and covered his hand with your own on the table, which prompted him to look you in the eye. “A girl can only hope and imagine that being with someone could be so natural. So easy.”

A small smile played at the corner of Dean's mouth just then. “You calling me easy, sweetheart?”

You grinned. “So what if I am?”

Dean rose up from the table and came to stand behind you, bending low to speak in your ear with that gravelly voice of his. “I’d say you're just trying to get in my pants.”

You giggled, feeling his warm breath and his whiskers tickle your skin as you set your coffee mug down and turned on the stool to face him. “Is it working?”

Dean looked downright indignant. “Who do you think I am, woman?” You crooked an eyebrow at him, to which he simply added, “Hell yes, it's working.”

He quickly wrapped an arm around your waist, making you squeal in surprise as he leaned you over his left shoulder and rose to his full height. And just like that you found yourself literally draped over his shoulder and being carried across the mess hall, laughing way too hard to be effective at any attempt to convince him to set you back down.

“Dean, come on,” you begged as you tried to catch your breath. “I'm gonna-”

But Sam's mortified voice cut through your half-hearted protests, abruptly stopping Dean in his tracks as he turned the corner.

“Oh, for the love of God,” Sam groaned. “You two are still going at it?! It's almost noon….”

You raised your head up far enough to see Sam adamantly turning on his heel and shielding his eyes from whatever image he was sure he'd regret having seen later.

Dean sighed in annoyance. “As a matter of fact, we were-”

But you cut Dean off in an effort to spare Sam. “We just finished brunch. There's still coffee and toast if you want some. And Dean and I will behave ourselves. I promise.” You felt and heard Dean's huff of a breath in protest as you hung there awkwardly. It was bad enough Sam had been displaced for the night. The bunker was his home. “Come on now, Winchester. Set me down already.”

Dean hesitated before he complied, but only after giving your ass a good solid smack with the palm of his hand for good measure. You yelped in embarrassed surprise, catching Sam's exaggerated eye roll at his older brother as you found yourself on your feet again, brushing your hair out of your face. Dean looked at Sam, his expression a combination of smug satisfaction and sour disappointment. _How the hell was he so good at that, anyway?_

You cleared your throat in an effort to focus, saying, “Time for you to hit the showers, big guy,” as you gently nudged Dean in the direction of the hallway with a hand on his back.

Dean grumbled as he reluctantly took a step forward. “How in the hell did I just go from hot sex to cold shower in two seconds flat?”

Sam took a deep breath, looking like he was biting back a grin as you gave him an apologetic smile.Sam mouthed, ‘It's fine, really,’ as you continued your forward progression of moving Dean down the hallway. Whatever nice thing you were going to do for Sam, it was going to have to be extra sweet and thoughtful after this.

Dean grumbled all the way down the hallway, and it wasn't until you had maneuvered him into the bathroom and stepped inside with him, closing and locking the door behind you, that he was stunned into perplexed silence. You pulled your shirt over your head, dropping it to the floor. Dean's eyes grew wide as he took in the sight of you as you worked at the button on your shorts, sliding them over your hips and leaving you standing naked before him.

“Well, Winchester?” you prompted in hushed tones, smirking as you leaned in to crank the shower knob. “Am I talking this shower by myself, or are you going to join me?”

Dean's belt was off and his jeans hit the floor in record time before he shed his Henley and boxers, stepping into the hot water behind you.

 

**************

 

“I guess I owe you one,” Dean told Sam as he sauntered into the library a little later that afternoon.

“Yeah, about that…. can we … can we just not?” Sam said. “We don't need to talk about last night, or that not-so-cold shower you enjoyed earlier. Not ever. Really. I'm good. We're good.”

Dean grinned and leaned against the table, watching Sam patiently until Sam looked up from his laptop again and sighed.

“Dude,” Dean said lightly. “You really need to get laid.”

“Oh, I think you've done enough of that for both of us lately.”

Dean let out a contented sigh, shrugging. “You’re not wrong.”

Sam scoffed. “And you're a jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean watched as Sam smiled in spite of himself. “Come on,” he told him. “She made your favorite dinner. It's probably ready by now.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean walks in on you target practicing in the bunker's range, but the conversation doesn't go as planned.

Dean walked into the firing range on your third draw, watching in silence as you fired the handgun. You'd purchased the Flashbang holster online, and it had arrived a few days ago, but you hadn't tested it out until tonight. It held your .380 LCP snugly between your breasts, mounting securely to the middle of your bra and rendering the small handgun undetectable inside your t-shirt. 

"Did you just pull a gun out of your bra?" Dean asked, a dopey grin on his face as he placed a box of ammo on the table near the door. He was clearly amused, like the way most guys are when girls manage to slip their bra off without having to remove their shirt first. 

You grinned at him and nodded, pushing the button that brought your paper target forward to inspect. "I'm not as quick on the draw as I want to be, but a little practice will remedy that. I’ve got my .40 for carrying, too, but this is going to be perfect for a backup gun on hunts. And I was hoping you could help me carve some sigils in the ammo I bought."

"Whoa, hold up," Dean said. "Did you say hunts?"

"On the next case," you said matter-of-factly. "I want to come with you guys."

He paused a beat, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I don't think so." He dropped the empty magazine from his gun and started sliding rounds into it one at a time.

You blinked at him, indignant. "Dean, I'm ready. I'm falling right into this life with you and Sam. And the timing finally feels right. I want to come along. I want to hunt."

"I know you've been out of the life," he said as he replaced the fully-loaded magazine, "but you know how dangerous it is."

His refusal was like a blow to the stomach. To the heart. "Are you saying I don't get to come at all? You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack," he deadpanned, setting his gun down on the table.

You were too flustered to berate him for his terrible analogy. "How the hell am I supposed to help if you're always leaving me home?"

He looked up at you then, hearing the passion in your voice. Normally you'd have thought that deer-in-the-headlights look on his face was amusing. 

He narrowed his eyes at you. "You don't think you've been helping?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

The line of his jaw hardened and he angled his body to face you. "Where is this coming from?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you shot back. "I was raised a hunter. Sure, I needed some time to adjust, but I feel like I'm doing that. I sure as hell didn't come here just to be a roommate who plays doctor on the occasions that you make it back here to the bunker in time for me to do something useful."

"You want to ride with us and hang back at the motel?" 

You let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah. I've spent countless hours immersing myself in the lore to get sharp again, busting my ass working out, and target practicing just so I can watch bad pay-per-view at the motel and sit around on-call. Are you even hearing yourself?"

Dean looked visibly shocked by your declaration. "Dammit, sweetheart. What do you want me to-"

You shook your head. "No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to sweetheart me, Winchester." You narrowed your eyes at him. "That's what this is about, isn't it?"

"What?" His tone was defensive now, and you knew you were on to something. 

"You and me," you said, waving a finger back and forth between the two of you. "Would you still be telling me no if-"

"If you'd turned me down? You bet your sweet little ass I would." 

The conviction in his voice caused you to pause, but only briefly. “So you get your season tickets, and now you're just going to bench me? How does that make any sense? Sam wouldn't-" 

"What about Sam?" Dean interrupted. "Are you saying he's on board with this?"

"Of course he is. I thought you were. This is why I came. To hunt. To save people in ways I couldn't do in an emergency room."

His green eyes were blazing now, watching you intently. "This isn't a freaking game. People get hurt, okay? People-"

"Die?" you cut in. Dean swallowed hard, watching you in heavy silence. "If you think you have to remind me of that, you don't know me as well as I thought you did." You snapped your gun back into your holster, fixed your shirt, and turned on your heel.

Dean called your name as you walked away, but you were too angry, too hurt by his quick dismissal to hear anything he had to say just then. 

You hoped he wouldn't follow, but you couldn't help feeling a twinge of disappointment when he didn't even try. You passed Sam in the hallway and grumbled a greeting as you wiped at your eyes before continuing to your room, locking the door behind you. 

"What the hell did you do, man?" Sam's booming voice carried in the hall a moment later.

You didn't hear Dean’s answer, and wondered for a moment if he was going to bang on your door, unsure how you'd respond if he did. 

You didn't get to find out. 

You cried angry, frustrated tears in the shower, and then forced yourself to pull it together. Sleep came quickly, but it was fitful, filled with dreams of Dean slipping away from you one way or another. The scenes were all different, but the end result was always the same. 

In some, Dean was hurt and you couldn't reach him in time to save him. In others, Sam was the one who was hurt, and when you weren't there to help save him Dean would lose himself in the grief, unsure if he resented you more for Sam's death, or himself for indirectly causing it.

Either way, the dreams were misery. You awoke several times during the long night, tempted to sneak down to Dean's room, to slip into bed with him, rest your head on his chest, and forget the fight all together. 

But you couldn't do it. You loved him too much to sit on the sidelines. If you couldn't help him and Sam, what was the point? 

You'd be nothing more than a glorified house sitter most days the way Dean had talked. 

That was not why you'd come, and falling for a Winchester had only solidified your purpose, not diminished it. You just weren't sure how could you make him see that.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Dean need to talk about what happened in the firing range, but how are you supposed to compromise when both of you feel like you're right?

Your fight with Dean about going on hunts plagued your sleep all night. You were almost relieved to drag yourself out of bed the next morning and stop pretending you were going to be getting any rest. 

To say that things were awkward isn't nearly a painful enough description for the tension that hung over the bunker. 

You took your time getting ready in the morning, but that just meant that Dean and Sam were both in the kitchen when you walked in afterward. Dean was making coffee, and you caught his sideways glance in your direction as you came in, but neither of you spoke. 

Sam's expression was full of concern. He kind of looked like he wanted to say something, possibly play peacemaker, but then he gave a little resigned shrug. You forced a smile for him, but he knew it was just that.

"I'm headed to the store in five. If you two need anything add it to the list and I'll grab it," you said. You didn't wait around for answers, but instead went to retrieve your phone and purse. 

The guys were having a conversation in the war room when you walked through again. You quickly snagged the list from the kitchen and headed for the garage, grateful for some solitude as you got in your truck and started the engine. You turned the radio up loud in an effort to drown out the voice in your head that insisted on playing back your argument with Dean, blow for blow.

You tried to extend your outing by fueling up the truck and hitting the car wash first, but even the simple act of washing the truck made you think of Dean. About the time he'd sprayed it off for you and helped you through the near-panic attack brought on by being in your brothers truck right after his death. 

And then of course there was his fascination with his own car. You'd never seen a man so enamored by his car as Dean was with Baby. He practically worshiped that Impala. 

Come to think of it, the only time Dean ever got more excited and passionate about anything was with you. You wondered if you'd ever get to see him look at you with that fire in his eyes again. 

Like you were oxygen, and he'd been holding his breath for way too long.

The sick feeling you'd had since the argument last night had taken up permanent residence in the pit of your stomach. Things between the two of you were still so new and obviously fragile. And this didn't feel like just a little lovers quarrel. 

Grocery shopping didn't take nearly long enough, even though you tried to drag it out. You even made a stop to check the mailbox you'd rented in town, but that was only a brief distraction. 

Eventually you found yourself back at the bunker. You were grateful when Sam was the only one in sight as you came in with bags of groceries in each hand. He helped you unpack and put them away.

"He's back in the firing range," Sam stated when you'd finished, answering your unasked question. "Blowing off some steam, hopefully."

You sighed, gazing up at him. "Sam, I just want you to know I don't expect you to pick a side. I'm sorry you're having to deal with all this weirdness between Dean and I. If I knew how to fix it, I would."

He nodded. "I know, and don't apologize." He bent to give you a hug, and you took comfort in his warm embrace, resting your head against his chest for a moment.

"Thanks, Sam."

The afternoon dragged on. You studied in your room, bringing in books from the library two or three at a time, unsure if you hoped to bump into Dean as you came and went. But informative as the study session was, it was also depressing as hell. What good was all of this knowledge if you weren't going on hunts to put it to use? 

You ate in your room that evening, deciding a bowl of cold cereal was good enough comfort food for dinner. Sam had tried to ask if he could pick something up for you both and bring it back, but you weren't in the mood to socialize, knowing you'd be terrible company for him anyway. You'd politely turned down the offer and carried your bowl of cereal to your room. 

Eventually you put away the books and resorted to listening to music as an attempt to sort through your thoughts. You sat on your bed, music playing through your speaker on the nightstand.

You didn't know what you were hoping for. Enlightenment? Some clear path to compromise that you'd just been too fired up to recognize until now? You didn't find either of those things as you sat there. 

You did, however, notice the small rolled up piece of paper you had sitting on the nightstand. Picking it up absentmindedly, you spread it out and gazed at it. 

It was Dean's heartbeat. 

You'd kept it after he'd left it here for you, cherishing the physical reminder of his feelings for you, displayed in a manner perfectly suited to your liking. 

A knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts and you reflexively called out, "Come in."

Maybe you'd been expecting Sam. Maybe you were so lost in thought you hadn't gotten that far, but you definitely hadn't expected to see Dean come through the door. 

You shifted on the bed, dropping your feet to the floor and turning down the music as he closed the door behind him. You stood, watching as he took a few steps toward you and paused. He took you in with his eyes, probably trying to gauge your reaction to his sudden appearance in your room. 

His voice was soft when he spoke. "Hey, Doc.” 

You smiled sadly. "Hey there, Winchester."

The EKG print out of Dean's heart fell from your fingers to the bed, and he gazed at it for a long moment. Then he took a deep breath, and when the air left his lungs it was as if most of the fight in him went with it. You weren't sure that was a good thing. 

"Tell me you're as tore up as I am right now," he said, not wasting any time.

You swallowed hard. "Of course I am. You know I am."

"I can't keep doing this."

You hesitated, not wanting to make things worse, but you needed answers from him if this was ever going to get resolved. "Does that mean you've changed your mind?"

Dean paused for a beat before saying, "About you hunting? Dammit sweetheart, you don't know what you're asking."

You met his gaze and held it. "Like hell I don't."

"You being on hunts - smack dab in the middle of all the crazy - that wasn't the plan," Dean argued. 

"What exactly was the plan, then?" you asked as he turned away in frustration to stare at the wall. "To leave me here all the time so I can try to explain to you and Sam over the phone how to perform complex medical procedures on each other?" 

You sighed, hoping he would hear in your voice how much you needed him to understand. But when he spun back around there was a new level of determination blazing in his eyes. 

"And who is going to do that for you if you get hurt?" he demanded. "Me? Sam?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.” You knew better than to think that answer would satisfy him. "But don't think for a second that I haven't thought this through, Winchester."

You reached into the drawer of your nightstand and pulled out a medium sized leather-bound notebook, holding it out for him to take. 

"What's this?" he asked, opening the cover to find the words and images you'd scribbled there. 

The first pages contained notes you'd made in regards to basic first aid, catered specifically to hunting injuries and ways to treat symptoms that may be caused by supernatural creatures or events. 

Dean scanned the pages as he turned them, his green eyes darting back and forth. Then he reached the notes you'd made about him. They contained everything from correct dosage amounts for a variety of medications - based on his weight - and what those medications should be used for. You even had gone so far as to note his normal blood pressure and resting heart rate for baseline measurements, including a sample of a normal ekg printout for future comparison. 

“This is why you constantly have your nose in a book?” 

It was more of a statement than a question, and you didn't respond as he continued to flip through the pages, finding similar notes for Sam next. 

It wasn’t until Dean reached the notes you'd made on yourself that he realized you knew exactly what you were asking of him.

You'd spent time preparing these notes. A lot of time and extensive research. And they weren't for your benefit. He knew you. Knew you had all of this information locked away in your brain by now. 

You'd made these notes for he and Sam to use. And they'd only need them if you were out of commission....

It wasn't a matter of if you got hurt, but when. 

"This ... this is too much," Dean started to say, practically forcing the notebook back into your hands like it was a cursed object. "I - I can't…. " He sank down on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. "I can't even think about that."

"I appreciate that you're so worried about me," you said softly. "But in the end this is my decision to make. Not yours."

A moment of long, drawn out silence passed between you, and you realized the situation looked even more bleak now than it had last night. 

"God, I hate this." Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before looking up at you. He got to his feet again. "C'mere." He stepped toward you, taking your hands in his. 

His calloused fingers laced with yours, making you painfully aware of how you'd missed his touch. His green eyes studied your face, and you saw your own pain reflected in them. Things with Dean had always felt easy, even before the two of you had become a couple. And now ... now there was this heavy weight suffocating you both.

He pulled one of your hands to rest over his heart, which you could feel thumping - hard and desperate - not so much racing, but pounding with such force so as not to be ignored. 

Dean held your gaze. "Feel that?"

You nodded, hating that you had anything to do with him looking like that. 

Like he was just lost.

"This is me," he began, "knowing how incredibly selfless you are, and worrying that you'll get in over your head trying to save me, or Sam, or someone else who's hurt, because that's just who you are." Moisture was building up in his eyes as he spoke. "It scares the hell out of me," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. 

Tears stung your own eyes and you tried to blink them back as you nodded, wanting him to know you understood what he was saying. 

Then you pulled his free hand to the center of your own chest, watching his face as he contemplated the speed and vigor with which your own heart was thumping. 

The two of you stood like that for a moment in silence, hands connecting hearts. 

"This is me," you told him, "sitting on the sidelines, miles away, years of training and experience in emergency medicine going to waste because I'm not right there with you when you're bleeding, or unconscious - shot or stabbed - or who the hell knows what else." 

Wet tracks from tears carved down your cheeks and your breath hitched on a silent sob. Dean felt the motion of it with his palm, and he instinctively pulled you to him, holding you to his chest. His strong arms locked around you as he whispered your name. 

You pulled in a deep, uneven breath, expecting the scent of him to calm you, but it only piled on another layer to your anguish, your heart breaking a little more at the thought of what it would mean if you couldn't make him see - what the future would inevitably look like if you weren't there when he needed you most.

How that would mean the end of moments like this one. How you'd never forgive yourself for it….

You cried into his shirt, aware of his fingers in your hair, his hand cradling your head gently until your breathing evened out a little. 

Dean kissed your head and pulled back just enough to look at you. You gazed up at him, pressing your palm to his cheek, feeling the moisture there from his own tears. 

He cleared his throat, swallowing hard. "Sweetheart," he breathed, eyes searching yours desperately. "Where does that leave us?"

A fresh wave of tears came to the surface as you shook your head, admitting the truth. "I don't know."


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need to find some perspective, some clarity. Anything to help you sort out what to do about Dean's not waning you to hunt. You do the only thing that might help you in the end.

Dean left you in your room when it became clear neither one of you had any solutions to offer the other. Both of you were emotionally and physically exhausted, and it was starting to show.

He sat with his laptop and a beer for over an hour, scanning for headlines that might mean a case, but his heart wasn't really in it. He hadn't been on a hunt since the Demon had kicked his ass, and he was anxious to kill something evil, but leaving on a hunt while the two of you were in the middle of fighting about you being left behind didn't seem like a good idea.

In the end, he resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to be hunting to take his mind off things. And for Dean, that didn't leave a whole hell of a lot of options for killing time or soul searching.

Sam seemed to understand and didn't do his daily search for cases either. He did take the time to string up a new punching bag in the gym. He hoped Dean would make good use of it, but figured that even if Dean didn't, he'd need it himself if the two of you didn't kiss and make up soon.

Dean spent the evening adding a coat of wax to Baby's paint job. The mindless act of using his hands to do something familiar and repetitive was as close as he could come to therapy without killing something.

He tried not to think about you. About the way your body contoured perfectly to fit with his when he held you close. About the sound of your laugh ringing through the bunker. About how heartbreakingly beautiful you were, even with glistening eyes and tears cascading down your cheeks. About how he was to blame for those tears.

Dean knew what you wanted from him, understood it, even, on some level.

He just couldn't give it to you.

And as far as a plan after you'd moved in? He hadn't had one of those. Just like he hadn't had one the day he'd come clean about his feelings for you.

He'd just been so excited to have you in the bunker with him. And yeah, the fact that you were a doctor and wanted to help was an awesome bonus, but he hadn't really considered the mechanics of what that would look like in reality before he'd fallen so head over heels for you that he couldn't see past it.

It was after midnight when Dean made his way back inside. He paused by your door for a moment before gingerly turning the knob, opening it a crack to peer inside. You were sleeping, one leg out on top of the blankets.

Dean quietly stepped inside the room, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. He gazed at your face, brushing his thumb gently along your forehead to smooth the worry lines there. He guessed that you weren't sleeping as peacefully without him either.

He bent, leaving a soft kiss on your hair, his lips lingering there to prolong the contact. Then he straightened, his heart clenching with despair as he headed to his own room where he fell into bed, exhaustion finally winning out.

 

*****

 

Another vivid nightmare plagued your sleep that night, a direct reflection of the internal turmoil that was pulling your heart in two.

You found yourself trapped inside the hospital you used to work in. You seemed to be the only person inside the building, which was eerily quiet. Wandering the halls, you checked for someone - anyone else - but the place was deserted.

You kept walking, intending to leave through the ambulance bay to go outside and see if you could find out what was going on, but when you got to the exit, you found the doors were chained closed, locks the size of your fists keeping you from getting them open.

You pressed your forehead to the small glass window in one of the doors and saw Dean on the other side. He was lying on the pavement, unmoving, while the pool of blood beneath him grew bigger and bigger.

You pounded on the door, yanking on it and screaming for help, but nobody came.

You ran from door to door, trying to break your way out by slamming IV poles into them, throwing monitors and other heavy equipment you managed to carry. You even tried to break windows, but it was useless. You stood, helpless and horrified, watching Dean bleed out in front of you.

Every piece of medical equipment you could imagine was there at your disposal, but there was no way to reach him. He was dying.

It was four in the morning when you woke up, a sheen of sweat on your skin, your heart pounding in terror. You sat there on the bed, trying to breathe away the panic, but you weren't lost on the irony.

I can't do this. I can't just sit by and wait for him to get hurt.

The same went for Sam.

You got out of bed and started throwing clothes into your suitcase.

Twenty minutes later you had retrieved your toothbrush, shampoo and essentials from the bathroom, as well. You scrawled a quick note, realizing you had to do one more thing before you went.

Slowly turning the doorknob to his room, you chanced a peek at Dean while he slept. You just peered through the door since you didn't trust that you'd be able to get closer without waking him. Not with his hunter instincts.

The relief you felt at seeing him, at watching his chest rise and fall with every breath, just confirmed your feelings. You quietly closed the door again and loaded your bag in your truck, pulling out of the garage and brushing tears from your eyes as you went.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't help but panic when he realizes you're not in the bunker.

When Dean woke up the next morning he showered, pulled on some clothes, and headed for the kitchen. He went straight for the coffee, pouring a mug for himself and one for you, setting yours aside and hoping you'd come out of your room soon just so he could see your face. He hadn't slept worth a shit, and her hoped the coffee might help him wake up a little.

Sam came in a few minutes later, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge for his morning run. "Did you get any sleep?" he asked Dean, eyeing him doubtfully.

"A little. Is it that obvious?"

Sam blinked. "Yeah. You look awful.”

“Thanks for that.” Dean took a sip of his coffee and set it back down, folding his arms across his chest, watching the general direction of your room.

“You two kiss and make up yet?” Sam asked hesitantly. “As much as I don't want to hear that you were up all night having sex, it's better than watching you mope around another day.” Dean shook his head, staring at his coffee. “Shit, man. I'm sorry,” Sam offered, obviously regretting bringing it up. "Hey, why don't you come running with me?"

Dean looked at his brother like he must be running a fever. "Me?" he scoffed. "You know me, Sammy. I don't run unless something's chasing me, and then only long enough to reload."

Sam sighed. He'd expected as much. "Just thought it might be better than ... well, this." He waved a hand toward Dean and then toward your door.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"Suit yourself. Be back soon," Sam told him as he went to leave through the garage. Sam disappeared but came back a moment later. "Where is she?"

"Huh?" Dean questioned.

"Her truck isn't in the garage, so I just figured you knew where ... " Sam's voice trailed off as he saw the shocked confusion on Dean's face. "Maybe she's just running an errand," Sam offered quickly.

Dean was already walking toward your room. He knocked twice, called your name, and waited the obligatory two seconds before opening the door to go inside.

Your bed was empty, neatly made, and your belongings seemed to be in place. Then he checked the closet, and that was when he realized it was a little bare in the way of clothes. Also, the suitcase he remembered when you'd moved in was nowhere to be seen. He glanced around again, looking for answers as he pulled his phone from his pocket to dial your number.

That was when he saw the note on the nightstand written in your handwriting:

 

> _**Dean,** _  
>  _**Loving you and keeping you safe are two sides of the same coin. I don't know how to do one without the other.** _
> 
> _**I** _ _**know you feel the same way. I need a little time to clear my head.**_
> 
> _**Please don't worry about me.** _

Dean swore as he carried the note into the library, handing it to Sam when he approached. Dean finished dialing your number, silently pleading to anyone who was listening that you'd pick up.

"She's not answering,” he grumbled, stuffing his phone in his pocket and running a hand over his face. "Her phone must be off. It rings twice and goes to voicemail."

"I'm sure she's fine," Sam said, but his attempt to make Dean feel better fell flat. "She's probably only gone for the night."

"She took a suitcase, Sam. A _suitcase_."

Sam sighed. "Okay, but she left the rest of her stuff?"

"Stuff she doesn't care about." Dean was pacing now. "She was here when I went to bed. I - I didn't even hear her leave. She's like a freaking ninja. How did we not hear her?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "But Dean, this could be a good thing." Sam ignored the glare Dean sent his way. "You guys have been stonewalling for two days. Maybe she's right. Maybe a little time to clear your head will help you both, you know, gain some perspective?"

"How do we fix things if she's not even here?" Dean shot back. But then he sank down onto a chair, elbows on his knees, gaze on the floor. Sam brought him the cup of coffee still sitting in the kitchen. Dean took it, but didn't drink. "What if she's gone off to prove that she can be a hunter?"

Sam's eyes widened and he considered the possibility. "I don't think she ... " But his voice trailed off as he realized he wasn't quite certain you hadn't. Dean swallowed hard and got to his feet again. "Where are you going?"

"To find her, maybe...." Dean swore under his breath and threw his hands up in the air. "Hell, I don't know."

"Come on, there's no point in driving around aimlessly."

Dean gave a nod that was barely perceptible and took his coffee to the infirmary where he settled down in a chair and waited. Sam wasn't sure that was a better option than driving around without a destination, but at least his brother was nearby where he could keep an eye on him.

Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed your number again. He steeled himself for the voicemail greeting, closing his eyes to the pain that ripped through him at hearing your voice, and waited for the beep.

"Hey, it's me," he said, not caring that his voice was rough and raw with emotion. "I ... I know you have your reasons for leaving.... The last thing I want is to push you away. I just need to know that you're okay." He swallowed against the lump in his throat that was just as likely his own heart as it was anything. "I can't just not worry," he added. "You know I'm not wired like that...." He filled his lungs and let the air out slowly. "Dammit, sweetheart. I miss you."


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make a decision about what you need as you and Dean disagree about you hunting. Dean is going stir crazy back at the bunker, and Sam does his best to help him through it.

You hadn't had a destination in mind when you left the bunker. You only knew you needed some distance. Just the thought of one more heartbreaking glance from the man you were falling in love with was too much.

Not when he was asking you to stand by while he went off to pick fights without you. Not when the creatures on the other end of the fight had already taken everyone you loved from you.

Maybe you should have been more clear with Dean to begin with, but you had intended to be going on hunts all along. Sure, you'd been taking it easy for a bit, adjusting to life in the bunker, getting the infirmary set up the way you liked and stocking several first aid kits with all the essentials, but your to-do list was complete, and you wanted to get on with the reason you'd come.

You were starting to feel more like yourself than you had in a long time. Maybe it was the insta-family you'd found in Sam and Dean. Maybe it was because hunting was in your blood, and you'd been denying your destiny for way too long. Whatever the reason, you'd just gotten a taste of it before things soured.

Dean wasn't trying to hurt you. You knew that. You were certain he was trying to do the exact opposite, but that didn't change the fact that you couldn't be who you needed to be, with or without him, if you were caged up like you'd been at the hospital.

You turned your phone off, knowing that you'd be tempted to answer if Dean called. You also knew that you'd melt the minute his gravelly voice wrapped around you like a warm blanket. You'd forget your resolve, your reason for driving away, your need for some space to think clearly.

You hadn't known where you wanted to drive until you saw the road sign pointing you toward Lawrence.

 

*******

 

"We need a case," Dean said as Sam joined him in the war room.

"You want to leave?"

"I need to do something, Sam. It's been five days. Aside from that text the first night to let us know she's alive she hasn't called or answered her phone. I can't just sit here. I'm gonna lose my shit. I need to kill something evil."

"Look, I get it. I really do. You've been laid up for what feels like forever, and now…." Sam sighed and joined his brother at the table, sitting next to him. "Dean, you can't hunt.... Not like this. I need your head in the game when we hunt. If we go now one or both of us will just end up getting hurt.”

Dean didn't miss the implied ' _and she's not even around to patch us up'_ at the end of Sam's statement. Dean's expression was a mixture of annoyance and acceptance. He knew Sam was right, but he had all this pent up nervous energy and he was running out of things to do with it. It had just been so long since he'd hunted.

"Have you decided what you're going to say to her when she does get back?"

The question took Dean by surprise. "I ... I don't know."

"She's in this to help," Sam added. "She told me herself that working at the hospital used to be enough. When it wasn't anymore she came to us." Sam sighed and said, "Don't you worry that if she can't help us, she'll find other hunters to help?"

Dean glared at his beer bottle as he rolled it between his hands, the line of his jaw hardening. Just the thought of you off with other hunters who might not know what they were doing made his heart clench. "Do you really think she'd be better off with some other hunters?" he snapped, indignant.

"No. Of course not." Sam sighed. "And I don't think that's what she wants. She knows we're always right in the middle of the chaos, and she still feels safe with us. With you."

"That's a false sense of security if she's out there hunting with us. She'll wind up getting hurt, and she knows it. She compiled this - this book with notes in it. There’s notes in there for all three of us with dosages and vitals and, like, supernatural first-aid tips.”

Sam's brow furrowed in thought. “Like - like medical cliff notes?”

Dean sighed. “Exactly like that. You wouldn't believe it.”

“Huh.” But Sam actually looked impressed. "Don't you think you're being a little unreasonable?"

"Am I?" Dean demanded, turning enough to glare at his brother now. "All the women I've been close to have wound up in the hospital or dead. Your track record is about as good as mine, so tell me again how I'm being unreasonable."

"I'm just saying give her some credit. She may not actually be a hunter, but she does understand the life."

"Yeah, well...."

"More importantly she understands you," Sam added. "Maybe even better than I do - which I might not have believed if I hadn't seen it first hand - but that's saying something considering I've got a lifetime on her."

Dean gave Sam a sideways glance then. "I just want to keep her safe."

Sam nodded, his brow furrowing as he got to his feet. "I know you do." He gazed at his older brother; the man who had literally spent his entire life trying to protect him. "You can try to keep her safe," Sam told him. "Or you can keep her." He sighed, shrugging. "I'm not sure you can do both."

Dean felt Sam's hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and then Sam left him alone.

Dean was painfully aware of his heart thudding violently against his rib cage as he sat there in silence.

You were the last person on earth he wanted to push away. He’d always been able to be himself with you. Hell, he was more open and honest with you than he'd ever been with a woman.

Sam's words echoed in his head while he finished what was left of his beer. He ran his hand through his hair and stood up, tossing the empty bottle in the garbage.

He headed for his room, but found himself standing at the door to yours instead, gazing inside longingly. His feet carried him forward and he sat on the bottom of your bed.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs. God, it still smelled like you.

He rubbed his face with a hand, fighting against the tightness in his throat at the suffocating emptiness that hung in the air. Then something caught his eye from the dresser. Next to your shiny stethoscope was a book your mom had written.

Dean found himself moving forward to pick it up. He remembered you telling him that you liked to read her books written about hunts your parents had been on when you wanted to feel close to her. Without hesitation he took the little paperback with him to his own room and sat on his bed, turning on the lamp and opening it to the first page.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hadn't lived at the bunker with Sam and Dean for long, but being away has you feeling truly homesick.

You sat in your motel room, finishing the sandwich you'd gotten at a fast food joint in town for lunch.

It had been a week and a half today since you’d left the bunker. You knew distance wasn't going to solve things between you and Dean. But you had desperately needed some time and space to clear your head. And you hadn't gone far. The drive had been only been about four hours, even with a pit stop to stretch your legs.

You were feeling melancholy, and as you sat there and looked around the quiet motel room, you realized you were legitimately homesick. But not for the home you'd known for years. You missed Dean. And Sam. And the Batcave, as Dean called it. That was home now.

Dean was home.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you picked up your phone and dialed Sam’s number. He answered on the third ring.

“Hey,” Sam said, a hint of surprise in his tone. “How are you? Is everything okay?”

“I’m safe,” you told him, trying to alleviate any worry.

Sam sighed in relief. “I'm glad to hear that. You're … ” He was hesitating. “You're not hunting, are you?”

“God, no. By myself? I'm stubborn, but I'm not crazy. No … I don't think I'm quite ready for solo gigs.”

“Dean was afraid you might be out there trying to prove you can hunt.”

“Nah. This is more of a soul searching kind of thing and less of a monster hunting kind of thing. How are you?” you asked.

“I'm okay.”

“How is he?” you pressed, a little afraid of the answer.

“He's … well, I don't think he sleeps much, but he hasn't gone completely bat shit crazy yet, if that's what you mean.”

You nodded, even though Sam couldn't see you. He didn't ask where you were, and for that you were grateful. It would save him from having to omit information when he talked to Dean. “Are the two of you working a case?”

“No. I thought it was better if we didn't while he's, uh, you know, preoccupied….”

“How mad is he? You can tell me.”

“He's not. He's just … he's different, you know,” Sam said. “He's worried more than anything. And he's been reading these little paperback novels. I don't know what they are - or where he got ‘em - but he's carrying one around with him all the time.”

You smiled as a tear spilled onto your cheek. “They're my mom's novels,” you told Sam. “She wrote them about hunts my parents went on.”

“Huh…. Well, that explains a few things. Last night he fell asleep reading in the infirmary in one of the sick beds.”

“The infirmary?”

“Yeah. Guess it reminds him of you or something.”

“I miss him,” you admitted, feeling the sting of it in your chest. “I miss you both. I just can't spend all day everyday day in the bunker, Sam,” you told him. “I'll be the one who goes bat shit crazy.”

“I know. And I get it. I really do.”

“If I could just get him to see reason.”

You heard Sam sigh softly. “I wish I had some pointers for you there. But Dean … he's - he's not good at losing people. Just the idea of you getting hurt is-”

“I know.” Your voice was soft, sad.

“If it helps, I'd say having some time to think has probably been good for him. Dean's quick to react, but maybe he’ll come around.”

“Maybe,” you agreed, hoping against hope that Sam was right.

“Take whatever time you need. I'll keep an eye on Dean.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Take care of yourself, okay? He's not the only one who worries, you know.”

“I will,” you promised. “You do the same.”

You hung up the phone and wiped another tear with your sleeve. As you sat on the motel bed, hugging your knees to your chest, you tried to push down the emptiness settling there. Emptiness that was familiar enough to feel raw.

You were born to hunt.

You knew that now, even if your younger self - the self that had enrolled in medical school and worked her ass off to become a doctor - hadn't cared to admit it back then.

And the ache in your heart that accompanied every thought of Dean had only fortified your resolve.

Maybe it was Sam’s assurance that you could take more time, or maybe it was the realization that Dean was at home trying to understand you better by reading your mom's novels, but suddenly you knew with a certainty that more time alone wasn't what you needed at all.

You opened a text to Dean and sent a message.

Hey there, Winchester. I’m in Lawrence. I miss you like crazy….

 

*****

 

The vibration of Dean's phone made his heart clench a little. He'd spent most of the last week hoping every notification on his phone might be word from you. He almost didn't believe it when he saw your text. He opened it up and read it three times before he was convinced he wasn't imagining things.

He grabbed the duffle bag he always kept packed before heading for Sam's room in search of his brother. Sam looked up from his computer screen when Dean appeared in his doorway, bag in hand.

“Hey, I'm headed to Lawrence. I, uh, I don't know how long I'll be. She's-”

“Lawrence?” Sam realized as the word left his mouth that you must have gotten in touch with Dean after your conversation on the phone. “She’s in Lawrence?”

Dean cocked his head, shrugging. “Yeah.”

“Huh….” A smile stretched across Sam’s face and he raised an expectant eyebrow. “Don't screw this up.”

The corner of Dean's mouth twitched a little. “Shut up.”

Dean fired up Baby's engine and pulled out of the garage and onto the road, his heart thrumming at a quickened pace as he headed toward his childhood hometown and the woman he loved.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea what to expect when you see Dean for the first time after leaving the bunker in the middle of the night.

The cemetery was quiet in the late afternoon hours. You were alone with your thoughts, the trail of which shifted like the gentle breeze that tickled the stubborn blades of grass at your feet.

You'd been enjoying the peacefulness for half an hour, strolling along the rows of headstones, reading the markers, and taking in the fresh air. 

The rumble of Baby's engine announced Dean's arrival without the need to look over your shoulder as he parked and turned the key. You took a breath and waited patiently as he approached from behind. 

You’d sent him the message to say you were in Lawrence almost four hours ago, but you hadn't really known if he would come. He hadn't responded, but with your phone back on you knew he’d been able to locate you by tracking it if he wanted to. 

Dean walked forward, but instead of greeting you he crouched down before the nearest headstone to your left. He gazed at the inscription in silence, and you thought you could see a heaviness settle over him as he did.

"I wanted to know you better, " you told him, feeling the need to explain. "I thought by coming to your hometown I might understand you in a new way." You paused a moment to watch him, the breeze blowing strands of your hair into your face. From this angle you couldn't read his expression at all. "I'm sure you're wondering why you found me at a cemetery."

Dean just shook his head. You looked down at him, surprised, but he lowered his gaze to the ground, reaching out to run the fingers of one hand across the parched grass that was struggling to grow there. You resisted the urge to reach out and run your fingers over his hair in the same way. 

"I'm the last one who should be telling anyone how to grieve." It was the first time you'd heard his voice in over a week, and you couldn't believe how much the sound affected you. He took a deep breath then, exhaling slowly. "I'm also an idiot, because that's exactly what I've been doing."

It was a clarity you hadn’t expected from him. You hadn’t known how to untangle the knot of good intentions and guilt-laced failures that were the remnants of the way your brother’s death still plagued you, at least not in a way that you could explain to anyone. But in that moment you knew he finally understood. You weren’t the only one who had lost people to the good fight. To the things that go bump in the night. 

Dean sat like that for a moment, gazing at the inscription in stone before he straightened and planted himself in front of you. 

"Hunters don't get headstones," he began, eyes focused on his feet. "That leaves you with nowhere to go to feel close to your brother." He gazed over your shoulder then at the rows and rows of grave markers, adding, "It's only been six months. If it were me in your situation, and Sam was gone...." His voice cracked a little and trailed off as he reached up, putting his hands on your arms and rubbing up and down gently. 

You'd missed this, missed his touch. God, you'd just missed him. 

When his green eyes finally met yours you saw that they were full of regret. You reached up instinctively, pressing your hand to his cheek and brushing your thumb along the stubble there. Dean leaned into your touch and pressed your hand harder there with his own.

"You know, the things that brought us together are the same things we're trying to keep from tearing us apart," he said slowly. 

A sad smile stretched across your lips. "I know."

You took a breath, trying to collect your thoughts. You weren't sure you had the words yet to explain everything you needed to say, but Dean was here in front of you, and it was starting to feel like now or never.

"Listen," you breathed. "I've been taking care of you since the moment we met. I don't know how to turn that off. I don't even want to." 

Dean gazed at you intently while you spoke, listening. He was so beautiful it was heartbreaking.   
"I know I'm asking the impossible of you, Winchester," you added. "When you live to keep other people safe, how do you go about letting someone else put themselves in danger to do the same for you?" 

He turned his face into your palm, kissing it tenderly. "We're definitely cut from the same cloth." 

Then he took both of your hands in his and opened his mouth like he had a question, but he seemed to be hesitating. 

"What is it?" you prompted. 

He glanced over his shoulder back toward his car, saying, "I want to show you something. Will you come with me?” 

You nodded, and let him lead you back to the Impala. You slid across to the center of the bench seat as he started the engine, wanting to be near him now that he was here. 

Dean was quiet during the drive, one hand resting on your knee like he was afraid if he stopped touching you you might disappear. 

You'd known when you'd left that it would be hard on him. Hell, it was hard on you, too. Your days had always been made up of spaces of time between hard decisions, and some spaces were definitely shorter than others. You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling your heart flutter a little when he gave your knee a gentle squeeze in response. 

When Dean eventually pulled over and put the car in park, it was in front of a green, two-story house. You gazed at it through the passenger side window - at the towering, gnarled, leafless tree in the front yard - and you realized exactly where Dean had brought you. 

You'd thought several times about visiting this place during your week long stay in Lawrence, but you hadn't been able to bring yourself to do it. The idea of it hadn't settled right. Now that you were here - with him - you were glad you hadn't come alone before. 

Dean got out of the car and came around to your side, the soles of his boots clapping on the ground as he walked. He opened your door and you stepped out and leaned against the car with him. You could feel the heat of the car’s warm metal through the denim of your jeans as you turned your head to study his expression.

His faraway gaze and the frown tugging at the corners of his mouth were enough to warrant linking your hand in his with a reassuring squeeze. 

His chest heaved as he pulled in a long breath. Then the words slowly poured out of him. It was as if he'd managed to spring a small but steady leak in the damn he'd built around everything he'd wanted to say to you before but couldn't. 

"I lost everything here - everyone but Sammy," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I carried him out that front door myself." He blinked and shook his head slightly. "I was just knee-high to a grasshopper back then." He held his hand out in front of him at waist level to demonstrate. "I remember holding Sammy in my arms and rushing out of the house, and just being so damn scared."

You felt a lump forming in your throat as he spoke, and you rested your head against his shoulder, your gaze drawn back to the house. 

"Mom died that night," he continued, "But Sam and I lost Dad, too.... I just didn't know it yet." He rubbed his face with a hand and stared up at the second story window on the right. "Hell, we lost our entire childhood." He shifted his weight and turned to face you, those intense green eyes locking on yours. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't have a lot left to lose in this world, sweetheart. If anything ever happened to you.... " 

Your heart did a little flip at hearing his nickname for you, and the adrenaline urged you forward. "Dean, I don't want to be careless. I'm no good to anyone if I get myself killed.” 

"Look," he said softly. “I made some assumptions I shouldn't have made. To be honest, I was doing everything in my power not to fall in love with you from the first day we met. But you moving into the bunker turned my whole world upside down.” 

He took your hand in both of his, playing with your fingers as he continued. “Suddenly all the things I'd been telling myself about how it could never work between us because you lived far away, or - or because you had this amazing career that I would never jeopardize.… all of a sudden none of those things were standing in the way, and I let myself fall so goddamn hard I couldn't see two inches in front of my face.”

You smiled, feeling moisture well up in your eyes. “Dean, I'm willing to put in the work. I want to show you that I can do this. Hunting is in my blood as much as it is yours….” You took a breath and let the truth spill from you like only truth can. “I couldn't save my brother, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to be there when you and Sam need me."

Dean gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I don't actually want to lock you away in the bunker," he said after a beat, his eyes fixed intently on yours. "Unless you're wearing nothing but your stethoscope and I can have you all to myself." 

You couldn't help but smile with him at that, but his face grew serious again almost instantly. 

"We can figure this out,” he said. “If you'll let me, I want to help you hone your skills so you can kick evil in the ass by my side … and, while we're on the topic of kicking ass, you can start with mine. I deserve it.”

Your fingers went to his shirt collar, and you pulled him in to kiss his mouth. His hands fell to your waist, tugging you closer up against him, deepening the kiss. 

You leaned into him, your hand falling to rest on his chest, feeling the pressure of his heart thudding out a familiar cadence. As Dean's lips moved against your own, you thought you sensed just a little of that heavy, tense weight melt from his body. 

When you pulled back Dean rested his forehead against yours. You gazed into his eyes, feeling the truth in your words as you spoke them. "What you deserve is to be loved by someone who will fight tooth and nail, even if it means fighting with you, to keep you safe."

Dean cupped your face in his hands, lips on yours again in a tender kiss that was full of honesty and openness. You reveled in the feel of his hard body up against your own, in the intoxicating taste of him, the way you felt small and protected, yet strong and capable when his arms came around you. Gone was any trace of hurt or resentment you'd feared might taint things when you next saw him. 

When the kiss ended you looked up at him and grinned, breathless. "Damn, Winchester. I missed that mouth of yours."

Dean laughed out loud at that, and the sound made even the sorrow-laden ground you were standing on feel like a place filled with sunshine, hope.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best part of making up happens between the sheets.

You both turned away from the Winchester family home and Dean opened the passenger door of the car for you. 

"Where exactly is your truck?" Dean asked as he climbed in the driver's seat. “I didn't see it at the cemetery.”

"At the motel. It won't start."

He trained those green eyes on you, and you could almost see the wheels spinning in his head at the thought of you being stranded and not calling him. "Since when?"

"Yesterday. I’ve been using Uber to get around."

"Let's go see what we can do about that." He put the car in gear and pulled onto the road just as a flash of lightning in the distance hinted at a storm approaching in the darkening sky. You couldn't help the smile that formed on your face. 

Dean glanced at you from the corner of his eye, your smile putting one on his face, too. "What are you grinning about?" he asked. 

"It's going to rain," you said with a happy shrug. "I love rain." Thunder groaned and you opened your mouth and raised your eyebrow at him, laughing.

It wasn't long before big fat raindrops were falling on the windshield. You turned up the music when Bad Moon On the Rise came on, singing along, acutely aware of his green eyes shifting to watch you on and off as he drove. 

When you reached the motel Dean parked next to your truck, cutting the engine. 

"Ready, Winchester?" you asked as you pulled out your motel key. "One, two, three, break!" 

Dean was half a step behind you as you hopped out of the car, running toward the motel door.

You didn't have to go far, but the rain was coming down hard and you were pretty wet by the time you were fumbling to get the key to work. You grinned as you tried a second time, but the rain had made it slippery and you only managed to drop it. Dean snatched it off the ground and you both laughed, seeing how completely soaked you were.

Dean took a step closer, but instead of going for the lock he gripped your hip with his hand, the other one lifting your chin so he could press his warm lips to yours. 

You sighed and melted into his kiss, your fingers finding the belt loops on his jeans so you could pull his body closer up against you. He brushed a strand of wet hair from your face as he sucked on your bottom lip. He tasted like a delicious combination of salt, and sweet, and summer rain.

The cold drops of water plummeting from the sky to land on your skin, in your hair, drenching your clothes, were no match for the heat radiating from Dean and that glorious mouth of his. When you paused to breathe you both stood there, chests heaving, eyes locked. You touched his hair with your fingers, seeing the small drops of water on his eyelashes.

"We're having a chick flick moment," he said, the tiniest hint of a smile playing on his lips. 

"That sounds promising."

"Hell yes it does." Dean's mouth covered yours again, and he guided you over until you felt the door at your back, gently wedging his knee between your legs.

You ran your fingers through his damp hair as you kissed him, letting some of your weight rest on his thigh. He moaned, a rumble that came from deep in his chest, and you felt yourself getting wet in ways that had nothing to do with the storm. 

You were mildly aware of the fact that he was fumbling with the door again. He didn't break the kiss until the door was opening, and you gave him an impressed grin, biting your bottom lip as he pulled you into the room and closed it again. 

You both worked to shed your soaking wet clothes, and you laughed a little as you struggled to wiggle out of your jeans that clung to your skin. Once you’d tossed them aside, you straightened and locked eyes with Dean, chest heaving. He stood only in his boxers, pulling you toward him in one swift move.

You felt his arousal press hard against your stomach just as his lips met your own. You kissed him back fervently, hands gripping his broad shoulders as you felt him guide you backwards until you bumped up against the wall. 

His hands reached around you, releasing the clasp on your bra. He tugged it low and you slid it from your arms and hands, tossing it aside. 

His warm mouth latched onto one breast, his hand kneading the other. The sensation of him suckling you sent jolts of pleasure to other sensitive places, warming you up from the inside and chasing away any lingering chill from the rain. 

His knee came between your legs again, parting them, and you let your weight rest on his muscular thigh. The thin layers of fabric that made up your panties and his boxers were the only barrier left between his skin and yours. You wiggled and writhed, desperate for some real friction as he released your nipple and moved on to the other breast, warming it with his mouth and giving it the same attention. 

You moaned, the sound causing Dean’s head to snap up, hunger blazing in his green eyes. You gripped his face with your hands, kissing his mouth as his arms came around you. He lifted you by the waist as you wrapped your legs around his middle, ankles locking. 

And then he was carrying you across the room and bending low over the bed to lay you down. He quickly discarded his boxers before climbing up to hover over you. 

“I missed you,” he said, staring into your eyes. “I missed you so damn much.”

“Me, too,” you said, a little breathless. He kissed his way down your stomach and you fought to get the words out that you wanted to say. “Next time let's skip the fighting and go straight to the make up sex.”

Dean practically growled in agreement as he gripped your panties with his fingers and pulled them off you, making you squeal in surprise. 

He buried his face between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you in place, tongue teasing in wide circles before tracing along your lower lips. 

“D-Dean,” you breathed. “Oh God….”

His only response was a low hum that sent glorious vibrations coursing through you. He flattened his tongue out then, laving in broad strokes.

Your breath caught in your throat at the feel of his warm, wet tongue against your clit. You instinctively tried to roll your hips, but Dean's grip on you prevented much motion.

After a moment of glorious torture from his tongue, Dean ran two fingers through your slick before gently easing them inside you.

His movements stilled for the space of several heartbeats and a shiver of anticipation traveled the length of your spine. 

You whimpered as he began stretching you, scissoring his fingers and brushing up against that spongy spot that was becoming more and more sensitive and engorged with every pass.

His free hand reached up to palm your breast, tugging gently at your nipple and dragging a moan from your lips as his tongue worked at your clit. Precise, short flicks that had your head growing light and your breath coming shallow, hard. 

You squirmed, hands moving from raking through Dean's hair to fisting the sheets as he relentlessly worked. His fingers pumped in and out of you, hard and fast, like your breathing. 

He changed the angle and curled his fingers with a come hither motion, pinching your nipple with the other hand. It was just enough to steal your breath and set off your release. You rolled your hips and gripped the sheets, back arching off the mattress. Your mind went blissfully blank except for the sensation of muscles clamping down around Dean’s fingers in pulses of pleasure. 

Dean’s tongue was lapping at you now, and it was on the verge of being too much, too intense, but you couldn't bare the thought of pushing him away. Not when it felt so damn good having him tucked between your legs like that. Not when you’d missed him with every fiber of your being. 

Your thighs were quaking, and you felt him press a kiss to your center before withdrawing his fingers from inside you. 

You struggled to even out your breathing, feeling the mattress dip and bounce a little with Dean’s shifting. You opened your eyes just in time to see him slide up on the bed, having removed his boxers. He placed a hand on either side of you to hold his weight as he crawled forward, his expression a perfect contradictory mix of something eager to please and something predatory.

It must have been the combination of the two that made your bones feel like jello as you reached up to grip his shoulders.

He lined up with your center, and with one controlled motion that was smooth while not being too fast or too slow, he sank into you.

The feel of him inside of you was hot, solid, and just so goddamn filling. 

He began moving, slowly for a few thrusts before picking up his pace to a more satisfying and mind-numbing rhythm. It wiped your brain of thought. The bliss was almost as beautiful as you felt when he looked at you like that. Like he knew nothing or no one else. Just this moment, and your body wrapped around his. Like he knew no colors except for the pink in your flushed cheeks and the darkened shades of your lust-blown eyes.

At some point he transferred his weight to one hand, snaking the other between the two of you to tease at your most sensitive parts. He bent low enough to kiss you, and this kiss tasted like an apology for all the recent heartache. 

You kissed him back fervently, throwing all of your understanding and unconditional love into the act. It came on quickly this time, your vision blurring as a second burst of pleasure stole the breath from your lungs, flooding out from your core. Dean’s rhythm faltered, your name spilling from his lips as his release came on the tail end of your own.

He tucked his head into the crook of your shoulder while his body shuddered, muscles tensing and twitching. You lightly raked your fingernails along the back of his neck as he came down until he moved to rest his weight next to you.

Dean wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close when you snuggled up to his side, resting your head on his chest. His heart thumped against your cheek as you lay together in comfortable silence in the motel bed. You enjoyed the sound of it beating as it leveled out, slowing down in the afterglow. 

Thunder crashed outside, rain plummeting heavy against the door and window as if competing for your attention while Dean's fingers trailed lazy patterns along your arm and down your back.

"Tell me about what you're going to teach me so I can hunt," you said softly, breaking the silence.

"Hmm.... " Dean took a deep breath, your head moving slightly with the motion of it. "We'll probably start with hand to hand combat. You've always got to have that as a fallback."

His voice rumbled deep in his chest, loud in your ear, and you thought that you could probably enjoy the sound of it, along with his heartbeat, and be perfectly content just like that forever. "Sounds good," you told him. "What else?"

"We'll need to get you familiarized with all the different weapons we haul around in Baby's trunk." You nodded, tapping his chest lightly with a finger while he hummed in thought. "You're going to need some fake I.D.'s, which happen to be my specialty, and some clothes to match 'em."

"Sounds like more online shopping in my future." 

"How's your Latin?"

"Ugh," you groaned. "I've been brushing up on that, but I'm definitely rusty."

"Hey, look on the bright side," Dean mused. "You're a crack shot with a handgun."

You smiled, remembering your second day in the bunker and the fun you'd had in the firing range. "You let me win," you said slowly, thinking out loud.

Dean's fingers paused near your elbow. "Huh?"

"That day we played 'Never Have I Ever' in the shooting range," you clarified. "You let me win, didn't you?" Dean hesitated just long enough to confirm your suspicions. You propped yourself up on one elbow to see him better and feigned insult. "Don't lie to me, Winchester."

"Only on the last shot," he said in his defense. "The rest was all fair game." 

Your eyebrow went up accusingly. "I believe you about as far as I could pick you up and throw you."

"I swear on Baby," he added, tracing an X pattern over his heart for good measure. "Besides, I can't be held accountable for anything I've done since you moved in," he said gruffly, holding his hands up in defeat. 

You bit back a smile as Dean's green eyes locked on yours.

"Especially that day," he added. "You got me all worked up field stripping my guns - it was practically foreplay - and then seeing you shoot like that, it just does stuff to me, okay?" 

You smiled and laid back down on his chest, teasing his skin with a fingernail.

"If it helps, I'd be down a shot on the whole making out with a doctor thing now," he teased. "Bonus points for getting past second base?" 

You laughed at the cocky edge in his voice and raised your head to shut him up with a kiss. His lips were warm and soft, and feeling them move with yours was enough to make your own heart start to race. You laid back on his chest again, enjoying the soft motion of his breathing and the feeling of being right where you belonged.

"You should probably let your brother know not to expect us back until tomorrow."

Dean sighed, mostly because he didn't want to think about Sam while he had your body pressed up against him. But he snatched his phone from the nightstand to text Sam anyway. 

Found her. Be back tomorrow. 

Dean's screen lit up a moment later with Sam's reply. 

Do me a favor and get it out of your system before you come home. 

"He knows we're having lots of make-up sex," Dean said proudly. 

You laughed and said, "Poor Sam." You shifted so you could plant a kiss on his chest. Dean's eyes watched you, his hand coming to play in your hair when you laid down on him again. Then you added, "I think Sam should get to decide when I'm ready to hunt."

"Hmm? Why’s that?"

"Because he'll be more objective," you answered. "You're too close to this to make that call."

Dean was quiet and you wondered for a second if your suggestion had upset him, but his heart didn't beat faster against your cheek, so you gave him a moment to consider it. 

"That sounds fair," he answered eventually. 

"Really?" you asked, unable to mask the surprise in your voice.

"Yeah. If being too close to it means having your gorgeous, naked body on mine like this, to hell with everything else."

Dean's lips were on yours again, effectively cutting off any further mention of his brother. A bolt of lightning struck nearby, and you broke the kiss long enough to laugh in disbelief at the sheer volume of it. 

"At least we know we aren't bothering the people in the next room," you stated. 

Dean grinned like a gorgeous idiot. "That sounds like a challenge."


	32. Chapter 32

Maybe it was the natural light coming in through the thin motel curtains, in stark contrast to the windowless bunker you had grown used to, but waking up next to Dean was different that morning than it had ever been.

You watched his chest rise and fall gently with his breathing, watched dust fairies dance in and out of the rays of light that poured into the room and cascaded over the blankets that covered his bottom half.

You gazed at the light dusting of freckles that fanned out beneath his eyelashes and across the bridge of his nose. At his tousled hair, messier than you'd ever seen it from your time in the rain last night before he’d ravished you.

Maybe spending some time apart and coming back together had solidified your relationship in even more ways than you’d realized last night. You were unified now, in love and in purpose. And that was everything.

Dean stirred, rolling onto his back as he opened his eyes, legs stretching out beneath the covers. Then he seemed to instantly recall last night's events, and he turned to gaze at you, a smile breaking out on his lips.

“Morning, sweetheart.” His voice was a deep rumble, gravelly and sleepy and perfect.

“Morning,” you said, smiling back.

He rolled closer to you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before settling back down on his pillow, watching you with a look of adoration sparkling in his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face and said, “God, you're beautiful. You know that?”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks at his words and snuggled up to his chest. Dean’s hand moved under the blankets and you giggled as you felt him squeeze your bare ass.

“I hate to suggest anything that involves me moving away from your naked body, I really do, but I should probably go take a look at your truck,” he said after a moment.

You propped yourself up on one elbow and nodded. “I need a shower anyway.”

You kissed him and he watched as you slid from the bed and walked toward the motel room bathroom, giving you an appreciative whistle as you went.

The shower was hot, even if the water pressure left something to be desired. You took your time, enjoying the soothing water on your skin and thoroughly washing your hair. When you walked back out of the bathroom to grab some clean clothes you found a note from Dean waiting on the bed.

 

> _Ran to the parts store. Be back soon._

You finished getting ready for the day, having just put your shoes on when you heard the rumble of the Impala’s engine outside the motel.

You met Dean at the door. He had a couple of sacks in one hand, and he paused in the doorway to press his lips to yours in a slow greeting that warmed you up in ways the sun couldn't compete with.

“I grabbed some muffins for breakfast. Blueberry. Not those disgusting bran ones Sam likes. Real muffins.”

You grinned as he set the bags down on the table and pulled them out, offering the muffins to you. You accepted one and took a bite, watching as he pulled some parts from the second sack.

There was a smudge of grease on his cheek. You wouldn't have thought there was anything that could make this man look better than he had as he'd been lying in bed next to you this morning, but dammit if that grease smeared there didn't do the trick.

“You already figure out what's wrong with the truck?”

He nodded, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth as he separated one of the parts from its plastic packaging. “Yeah, sort of. I should be able to Macgyver it enough to get it home. Then I'll tear into it.”

You picked up a second muffin for Dean and followed him outside where he popped the hood of the truck and leaned in to make some adjustments.

You rested against the side of the truck and held out his muffin to him. He took a bite and winked at you, chewing while he worked.

Funny, you thought, how in the space of a day you’d gone from feeling heartbroken and a little lost to being right back where you belonged in the world again. A gentle morning breeze caressed your skin as you watched Dean work to revive your brother’s truck.

He was thinking out loud, muttering to himself about how this hose was a little loose, and how this wire looked a little fried and would need replacing soon.

You smiled, enjoying the taste of blueberry and the plain and simple normalcy of the situation. You knew all too well that normal was not a word that would be used to describe most of your days from here on out, but you didn’t care. You wouldn’t trade your life with the Winchesters for the world.

Dean fiddled under the hood of the truck for half an hour before he was convinced it would make the drive back to Lebanon. Then it was his turn to take a shower. You gathered all of your stuff and tossed it back into your suitcase while he showered. You were sitting on the bed when you heard the water from the shower turn off.

You found yourself staring as Dean sauntered out of the bathroom wearing only a towel around his waist, little beads of water on his shoulders and in his hair.

He must have felt the heat of your gaze as he rummaged through his duffel, because he glanced over his shoulder and smirked. He'd definitely caught you staring, but you didn't care. No point in denying it.

“I, uh, I know you just got clean,” you said slowly, “but seeing you in that towel is giving me all sorts of dirty ideas.”

He turned to face you now, dropping the clothes he'd gathered back into his duffel and stalking toward the bed.

“Goddammit sweetheart,” he growled as he climbed up toward you. “You keep talking like that and we're never going to get out of this room.”

It was your turn to smirk as he paused, his lips just inches from your own. “Don't threaten me with a good time, Winchester.”

His mouth covered yours, teeth nipping lightly at your bottom lip as your hands worked to shed the towel at his waist.

He pulled your shirt over your head and made quick work of your bra, tossing it aside with abandon.

Your last hour at the motel was spent enjoying some thorough manhandling from Dean, tracing every inch of his broad, muscled body with your fingertips, coaxing pleasure from each other and delaying the inevitable. It was a perfect ending to your out of town reunion before you both caved and admitted it was time to hit the road.

Dean looked hesitant as he placed your suitcase in the bed of your truck.

“What is it?” you asked, watching as he eyed his car.

“Maybe you should let me drive the truck,” he said, pulling the keys to the Impala from his pocket and dangling them in front of you.

You blinked at him. “What? Why?”

“Because,” he said. “What if your truck breaks down again? I’m not convinced it's going to survive the whole drive back and I don't want you behind the wheel if something- ”

“Stop right there, Winchester,” you told him, smiling and gently closing his hand over his car keys. “I'm going to be hunting, remember? I can drive the damn truck.”

Dean huffed, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You're cute when you cuss.”

“You can follow me.” You planted a kiss on his cheek before you brushed past him and climbed up into the driver's side of the truck. You started the engine and rolled down the window, saying, “Try to keep up.”

Dean shook his head at you, but he was grinning as he climbed behind the wheel of the Impala and fired up the engine.

It felt good to be on the road headed toward Lebanon. Toward home. The four hour drive back to the bunker felt a lot shorter than the drive away had. You and Dean made one pit stop for lunch in Junction City at a little diner he swore had the best burgers in all of Kansas, and you sat across from him in a booth.

“Do you remember the last time we had lunch at a little joint like this?”

“The only time we ever had lunch at a little joint like this?” you said, smiling as you considered him. “Sure I do.”

Dean chewed a fry and looked like he wasn’t sure whether or not he should have brought it up. You bumped his knee softly under the table with your own, drawing his gaze up to meet yours.

“Hey Winchester, not everything about that weekend was bad. I got to see you again, didn’t I?”

Dean gave a little nod and wiped his fingers on his napkin, gazing at you with a shift in his demeanor that surprised you. “I didn’t tell you then, but watching you drive away that day was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

It was a loaded statement and he didn’t have to say more. You could see it all layered in the depths of those green eyes. He’d been convinced he’d failed you by not bringing your brother back to you safe and sound. He’d been afraid you’d never forgive him for it. He’d been certain he’d never see you again. And he’d also believed deep down that it was for the best.

“It was hard for me, too,” you said, reaching across the table to put your hand on his, and then moving to snatch one of his fries, watching the surprised smile spread across his handsome face as you popped the fry into your mouth and grinned back at him.

He chuckled and took a sip of his milkshake, signaling the waitress for the ticket. “Sam was right when he said I'd met my match in you.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to the bunker feels like coming home. Dean has agreed you should start training for hunts, but you get the impression that deep down in his heart Dean is still struggling with the idea of ever willingly putting you in harm's way.

You pulled your truck into the bunker's garage just before Dean did the sale with the Impala. You were already climbing in the back of your pickup to retrieve your duffle bag as he parked and cut the engine. You hopped down, shutting the tailgate as Dean pulled his own bag from the trunk of his car and looked up to watch you gazing fondly around the garage.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Just feels good to be home,” you told him with a small smile. Dean placed a kiss on your hair and followed you inside with a hand on the small of your back. You'd barely set two feet in the war room when Sam appeared at your side.

“Hey,” he said as you turned to greet him. You felt his long arms wrap around you as he bent and lifted you off the floor in a warm embrace. You hugged his middle, laughing as he set you back down. “Welcome back,” he added.

“Thanks. I missed you, too,” you told him, grinning.

“I’ve gotten used to having back up with this guy,” Sam teased, gesturing to Dean. “You're not allowed to leave ever again.”

“Noted,” you said with a nod.

You watched Dean squeeze Sam's shoulder in greeting as he passed by. You didn't miss the content smile that played on his lips as he headed down the hall to drop off his bag.

Dean grilled bratwurst for dinner and you boiled corn on the cob and whipped up a fruit salad for sides. You playfully swatted his hand away when he tried to dip a finger in the Cool Whip container, but when you were finished you handed it over to him with a spoon to scrape out and enjoy the remnants.

“This is why I love you,” he said. He put a dab of cool whip on his lips with the spoon and learned in for a kiss, which you granted with a laugh, wiping your face with a napkin afterward.

Your heart felt light as air. Tomorrow you'd get down to specifics about what you still needed to do to prepare for hunts. Tonight you were just going to enjoy being back where you belonged.

The three of you took your time eating dinner. It was comfortable and full of stories with a good helping of Dean and Sam giving each other a hard time. It really felt like you hadn't left at all, and for that you were grateful. Sam insisted he'd clean up afterward, and you found yourself in your room, unpacking your suitcase when Dean knocked on the doorframe, drawing your gaze up.

“I, uh, I need to return this,” he said. You weren't sure if you were imagining the hint of color in his cheeks as he stepped inside your room and handed over one of your mom’s books. You smiled as you took it from him, affectionately flipping through the pages until a strip of paper toward the end caught your eye. You pulled it out and Dean cleared his throat.

“I, uh, I was using that as a bookmark.” He reached out for it and you handed it over, realizing as you placed it in his palm that it was a print out of your heartbeat from the night Dean had insisted the two of you test out the equipment in the infirmary.

Dean gave a little shrug, gesturing toward the novel with a jerk of his chin. “Let's just say you're not the only one who needed to gain some perspective while you were gone.”

You rose to your feet, setting the paperback down on your bed as you stepped closer to him.

“You may not have been doing much of the actual killing, but I know now more than ever that you've seen your share of messed up shit,” Dean said slowly. “I'm sorry. You tried to tell me, but I didn't want to hear it.”

“Thank you,” you told him, smoothing the collar of his second shirt with your fingers and resting your palm on his chest. “I appreciate that more than you know.”

“It's impressive, the way your parents managed to raise you and your brother while still hunting. I would have liked to have met them,” he offered, “and to have spent some real time with your brother. But reading these books has helped me feel like I know them a little bit. I have your mom to thank for that.”

“She would have loved you,” you said with a smile. Dean met your gaze, raising a doubtful eyebrow. “I mean it,” you insisted. “She would have called you devastatingly handsome, and you'd have had her charmed in about two seconds flat.”

“Is that so?” he said as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Yep. She was a sucker for a hero in flannel. Must be where I come by it.”

Dean’s eyes crinkled at the corners now as he gazed at you. “What about your dad? Not sure he'd be too keen on me taking his little girl out hunting for monsters.”

“Dad would be more surprised by the news that I wasn't hunting monsters,” you replied. “I'll credit him for my stubborn streak. He loved helping people. I know he’d be proud of me no matter how I choose to do that.”

Dean nodded and wrapped his arms all the way around you, pulling you tight to his chest in a warm embrace. You breathed in the scent of him and rested your head over his heart.

“You tired?” he asked after a moment.

“A little,” you admitted. It had been an emotionally exhausting week, even if things had worked out in the end.

“You want to crawl up under the blankets and watch a movie in bed with me?” he asked, watching your face when you learned back far enough to gaze up at him.

“Mmm … that sounds perfect.”

Dean’s lips pursed together slightly as he gave you a little definitive nod. “You get comfy. I'll get the laptop.”

You nodded, raising up on your toes to press a quick kiss to his mouth before releasing him. Dean left you in search of the laptop and you changed into a tank top and the pair of sweatpant cutoffs Dean loved so much.

When he returned you were nestled in the blankets, waiting. He’d changed into a black henley and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. After a moment of debate, you'd chosen a movie to watch. Dean joined you in the bed and you rested your head in the crook of his shoulder.

The warmth and safety of being there in his arms was enough to make your eyelids droop thirty minutes into the movie.

Dean waited until he was certain he wouldn't disturb you before he turned off the laptop and gently placed it on the bedside table with one hand. He left a soft kiss on your temple and closed his eyes, drifting off far quicker than he did on most nights.

 

*************

 

Dean's panicked voice brought you out of a deep sleep in the middle of the night. You opened your eyes and sat up far enough to prop yourself up on one elbow.

Dean was mumbling next to you, his eyes still closed. Dreaming, you realized.

“Dean?” you said softly, scooting closer to him.

His breathing was rapid, his chest rising and falling as he sucked in air through gritted teeth. Even the pale glow cast by the digital clock on the nightstand was enough to illuminate the sheen of sweat on his skin.

“Dean? Honey?” you tried, but he was spouting strings of incoherent noise, and you doubted he could hear you over the sound of his own voice. “Wake up, Winchester,” you called, louder this time.

He tossed and turned, muscles bunching with tension. Then he practically shouted, “Get the hell away from her, you sick bastard!”

“Dean!” you called out in response. It was unnerving seeing him like this, and whatever he was experiencing in the nightmare, you just wanted it to end. You’d been slightly wary of touching him in his agitated state, but you threw caution to the wind and gripped his wrist with a hand. At just a touch, you could feel his bounding pulse. “You’re dreaming, Dean. Wake up.”

You gave his arm a firm shake, and it was just enough to startle him back to consciousness. He gasped, eyes shooting open wide and landing on your face.

“What….” He gazed at you, blinking, and wiped sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand. “What is it?” His voice was low and scratchy, brows knit together in worry.

“You were having a nightmare,” you breathed in relief. “I've been trying to wake you.”

His chest heaved with a sigh and he reached out to take to your hand, grunting a little as he rose to a sitting position in the bed. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to disturb you.”

“Don't be,” you said, squeezing his hand. “What were you dreaming about? You were shouting, ‘Get the hell away from her.’”

Dean’s lips turned down at the corners and he shook his head softly. “Oh, it was nothing. Just a pissed off demon who thought it would be fun to torture me by taking a crowbar to Baby.”

You blinked at him. “The Impala?”

He brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. “Cruel and unusual punishment, messing with a man's car like that.”

You couldn't help but smile, which you knew was exactly as he'd planned, even if you were sure he wasn't telling the truth about what he'd seen in the dream.

“I'm gonna rinse off in the shower real quick. I'm all sweaty and gross,” he said as he released your hand and patted your knee through the blankets. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” You nodded and watched him peel the sheets off of himself as he climbed out of the bed. “Sleep good.”

“M’kay,” you said as you watched him go. You got up and stripped the sheets from the bed, replacing them with a fresh set before you climbed in again. You laid back down against your pillow, settling in for the rest of the night.

Dean assumed you were sleeping again when he returned to your room and stepped over the little pile of dirty sheets you'd left on the floor. He climbed into the bed and you felt the mattress dip with the solid weight of him. You rolled over and snuggled up to him, head on his chest, feeling him drape an arm over your hip in response as his warm breath pleasantly tickled your neck.

You breathed deeply, inhaling the clean scent of him as you listened to the forceful thump of his heart. You worried over what he'd actually seen in the nightmare. What could have him still so worked up about it twenty minutes later. What he wasn't telling you.

“You sure you're okay, big guy?” you asked softly.

“Hmm? Yeah, I'm good. Really.” You felt him press his lips to your temple. “Never better, sweetheart.”

It was no surprise he didn’t want to talk about the dream. Hell, you usually didn't want to talk about your nightmares, either. As you lie there waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, you couldn't help thinking about what it would take to convince him you were ready to fight by his side before expecting him to wrap his head around the idea of putting you in danger.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eager to begin training, you insist Sam doesn't take it easy on you.

“Don't go easy on me,” you said to Sam as you joined him in the makeshift gym just after sunrise.

Sam blinked at you in response, studying your expression. 

“Just don't,” you added. “Whatever it takes to prepare me for hunting, I need you to believe I'm ready when the time comes. I need both of you to believe I'm ready.”

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked. Sam always was good at reading between the lines.

“Dean had a nightmare last night. Long story short, I'm pretty sure it was about me getting hurt on a hunt. I just … I refuse to be a distraction out there, or a liability. Just promise me you won't go easy on me. You won’t be doing any of us any favors if you do.”

“You got it,” Sam said with a definitive nod.

Dean made himself pretty scarce for the majority of the day. You hoped it was only because he was trying to let you focus and work, and not because he was regretting the agreement you’d made to let Sam oversee your preparation to hunt.

True to his word, Sam constantly pushed you to improve and hone the skills you did have, taking opportunity to show you new ideas and ways of attacking a problem when the occasion arose. He was clearly committed to teaching you as much as possible about the types of situations you may encounter on a hunt, and you were grateful for his commitment to your cause.

Sam had only had one night to prepare, having only been told last night that you and Dean had agreed he would be the most impartial judge of your skills and readiness when the time came, but that hadn’t dampered his enthusiasm or prevented him from organizing a solid plan to train you up. While you’d been falling asleep to a movie last night with Dean, Sam had been formulating a plan.

You spent the entire morning going through basic self-defense moves on a mat, with Sam promising that within a week or two he’d be teaching you similar skills but with edged weapons, such as angel and demon blades. Sam was formidable and intimidating as hell, and although you had a lot to learn, you felt confident that mastering the skills he taught and using them against his giant six-foot-four frame would be a great preparation for when you’d eventually face the supernatural.

Dean surprised you and Sam with BLTs and sports drinks for lunch to ‘keep up your electrolytes’ as he put it with a wink. You’d thanked him, deciding that maybe he wasn’t having regrets after all.

After lunch, Sam suggested you take a bit of a breather by sitting down to work on knots. He cut several lengths of rope and went over a few basic knots he thought would be beneficial for tying up someone or something. He was pleasantly surprised by your knowledge of knots, laughing with you when you reminded him that although you weren’t a surgeon, you’d done your fair share of sewing people up. 

On the opposite end of the spectrum, you also needed to learn how to best try to escape the knots if they were used to bind you at any time.

“You can’t always slip the knots,” Sam warned. “There have been plenty of times Dean or I have been tied up and weren’t able to get free, sometimes because we're actually chained. I hate to imagine that ever happening to you, but if you’re running with us … ”

You shook your head, acknowledging his concern and the severity of what he was implying. 

“Obviously the best case scenario involves not getting tied up in the first place, but if you happen to find yourself bound with rope and you don’t have a knife you can reach or something sharp to shred the rope fibers, there are some things you can do to give yourself the best chance at escaping.”

You nodded again. “Be as difficult as possible while being tied up.”

Sam grinned. “You’ve got the idea.” Sam went on to show you a few positions to hold your wrists in front of you for tying that would seem like you were cooperating, but would in fact create some space between your wrists that you could use to your advantage to slip the knots. You talked about making noise and mentally manipulating your captor during the process of being bound. In this aspect, being a woman actually gave you an advantage, because you’d be able to cry out as if you were in pain, true or not, and try to make it more mentally difficult for whoever was tying you up, which may in turn make it harder for them to tighten the bonds as they worked.

“You may be an expert at tying knots,” Sam stated. “But most people haven’t had formal training in rope tying or knot techniques.” He hesitated only slightly before adding, “Even a Rugaru was just a human once, so you can use that to your advantage. They may not do an adequate job of securing you if you make a big enough fuss and offer enough resistance in the process. Let’s try it out,” Sam said, sliding the chair he was sitting on in the bunker’s library back a few feet away from the table. He gestured with a nod to the pile of rope nearby and said, “Aside from making a fuss, there are some other things I want to show you that you can use to your advantage, given you’re not unconscious when you’re being tied up.”

Sam asked you to bind him to the chair around his midsection slowly as he directed you. He demonstrated for you as you wrapped several loops around his chest and the back of the chair rest that he could expand his chest by taking a deep breath to fill his lungs completely, which created a loose spot in the end when he exhaled. He also tensed all of his muscles up as you wrapped him, and relaxing them had the effect of making the ropes slightly looser afterward.

You bound Sam’s wrists behind him, watching as he demonstrated how he could rotate his bottom wrist by 45 degrees while you tied the knots, which then allowed him to straighten it out afterward, having created a gap. 

“You can get this same effect if your wrists are being tied in front of you by angling your wrist like that, but also keeping them close to your body while they tie the knots.”

“Makes sense,” you mused as you watched him. 

“Ankles next,” he said, gesturing to another length of rope with a nod and kicking his feet out in front of him for easy access. You bound his ankles and then took a step back to admire your work.

“All right Houdini, show me how it’s done,” you said with a smile.

Sam chuckled and said, “Free your hands first, if you’re able.” He straightened his wrist behind his back as you side-stepped to get a better view of the process. Then he rotated his wrists back and forth to loosen them. It took several moments, and you watched carefully as he worked, fascinated by the fact that the simple twisting motion actually did create slack in the ropes. He wasn’t able to get enough slack to slide his large hands out, though. 

Sam wasn’t deterred at all, promptly moving on to raising one shoulder just enough to change the angle, which allowed him to use his fingers to retrieve a small fixed blade knife he had tucked inside the waistband of his pants at the small of his back.

“If I hadn’t filled my lungs to take up space by expanding my chest while you wrapped me, I may not have had the wiggle room I needed to retrieve my blade from its sheath,” he explained as he worked at the rope’s fibers. 

“Yeah. I need to get me one of those inside the waistband sheaths,” you noted out loud. 

“If you don’t have a blade or car keys, or you can’t reach them, look for another hard surface you can use. Friction will cut ropes and electrical cords and things like that, so find something nearby like an exposed corner of a cement wall, the edge of a table, or a countertop or something. I created enough of a gap here at my chest I could probably wiggle my shoulders and mid section and get upright if no one is watching me closely.”

Sam’s motions were awkward but effective as he worked at the rope with his blade, and after a moment the rope at his wrists fell loose. Sam held the rope firmly in one palm, tucking it into the back of his pants and keeping his wrists close together.

“Don’t drop it or they may see it fall,” you thought out loud, earning a nod from him.

“You don’t know want to clue them into the fact that you’re managing an escape. The less concerned they are about you once you’re bound, the better off you are.” Sam left his hands behind him, one hand gripping the opposite wrist for comfort. “You want to free your feet next. If you can’t free your hands, skip straight to your feet.”

You nodded and moved forward to watch from a better angle as Sam began kicking his boots off. His motions were slow and deliberate, once again not wanting to draw attention if necessary. “Once you’re down to your socks you can usually wiggle enough to get the ropes down to your feet from your ankles. If it’s not loose enough, you may be able to get into a position that lets you attempt to untie it with your teeth. Without use of his hands, Sam managed to get the knots to side down to his feet and after a brief struggle had the ankle bonds falling free.

He used his hands to brace the back of the chair on the sides as he maneuvered upward, pushing the chair back down as he rose upward against it, and then sliding up until the ropes binding his chest had come off the back of the chair completely behind him. The act gave him enough space to bring his hands forward and work at spinning the ropes around until he could see the knot you’d made there. He made quick work of the knot and the rope fell to the floor at his feet like a coiled snake.

You slow-clapped your approval. “Color me impressed,” you said. “I can see I have some things to work on for sure.”

Sam bent low to pick up the coiled rope at his feet, winding it as he said, “Do me a favor, will ya?”

“Anything for you, Sam.”

“When my brother wants to help you with your homework, give me enough warning to clear out of here for the night,” he said with a smirk that could rival one of Dean's as he dumped the rope in your arms.

“God, you know him so well,” you said with a chuckle as Sam began to walk away.

“Ugh, don't remind me.”

You followed Sam to the kitchen where Dean was staring blankly at the contents in the fridge. 

“Nothing to eat,” he grumbled as the two of you approached.

“I bought groceries two days ago. I know there's food in there,” Sam retorted.

“That explains all the green shit and the lack of good, hearty protein from actual meat,” Dean added. “I give up. Frozen pizza, it is.” You smiled at Sam's eye-roll in Dean's direction. “So,” Dean added. “How did things go this afternoon? What did you work on?”

“Knots,” you said casually. “Or, rather, escaping them.”

Dean rounded to face you.“Oh yeah?” And you could see it there, swimming in the green of his eyes, all the possibilities that came with that statement.

Sam's eye roll morphed into a full blown bitch face which he turned on you with an added air of ‘Did I call that, or what?’


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sam suspected, Dean finds opportunity for fun in your training, but the evening does not go the way he plans.

Three days after your initial ropes and knots training with Sam you had to hold up to your end of the bargain and shoot Sam a text warning him that Dean had offered to help you with your practice at slipping knots. 

You had no idea what Dean’s plans were, but Sam had taken the hint and hauled ass out of the bunker so fast your head nearly spun.

Dean met you in the war room twenty minutes later with a good long length of rope and several shorter ones. He gestured with a jerk of his chin toward the nearest metal column that spanned from the floor to the ceiling. 

You sat down on the floor, leaning back against it, and wrapping your arms around it behind you to stack your wrists on the other side. 

Dean rearranged your wrists as he worked to bind them, preventing you from angling them in the way Sam had suggested previously. Then he went on to secure you just below shoulder level with another length of rope, and you tensed all of your muscles, remembering just in time to take a deep breath, filling your lungs as much as possible as he secured another knot in place there. He produced a bandana from one of his pockets and rolled it slightly before bringing it up to cover your eyes.

“What exactly are you up to, Winchester?” you asked with a smile.

“Just doing my best to create a somewhat realistic scenario here for you, sweetheart. You’re welcome.”

He tied the bandana behind your head, and you noticed immediately that your other senses came into sharp focus at the loss of your eyesight.

Then you felt his hand cup your cheek, and his warm lips pressed up against your own as he gave you a kiss that was languid, hot, and needy.

“And should I plan on all of my captors kissing me like that, as well?” you teased when he pulled back. 

“Just spiking your adrenaline. You know, fight or flight and all that,” he said, “and anyone else who tried to kiss you like that would suffer a slow, painful death at my hands. I promise you that much, sweetheart.”

Then you felt his lips tickle the sensitive skin of your throat as he peppered kisses there. You bit your bottom lip, fighting the urge to pull against the restraints, which would only serve to tighten them. 

You tried to twist your wrists, tried to angle them in a way that changed how the rope felt against your skin. Anything to adjust the tension.

But Dean was so god-damned distracting, apparently determined to create a whole other kind of tension. He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth and you let out an exasperated chuckle.

“Cool your jets, Winchester. I really do need to get this figured out.”

“Agreed,” Dean said simply, dragging his lips over your collar bone. “The sooner you work your way out of this predicament, the sooner I can reward you.”

You felt the warmth radiating off his body decrease and then disappear altogether as he moved away.

You let yourself dwell on the promise of a reward and Dean’s delicious kisses for one more second before pushing it out of your mind to focus on the task at hand. You could hear chair legs scrape slightly against the hard floor and decided Dean must have taken a seat near you.

“Is that a figure-eight style knot at my wrists?” you asked.

“It is,” Dean confirmed, his voice sounding from a short distance away on your left, as you’d suspected. 

You hadn’t discussed or practiced how to escape that particular type of knot yet, but then again that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To think and work your way out of an unexpected situation. Under pressure….

You continued to wiggle and squirm, attempting to rotate your left wrist, but the column at your back created an awkward enough angle that you couldn't manage to get the sort of leverage you needed. But there had to be a way….

“Did you and Sam practice with that knot?” Dean asked after a moment of watching you struggle.

“Nope….” You were breathing a little harder now from exertion. “But don't tell me. You won’t be doing me any favors.”

“Whatever you say.” Dean was silent for a moment and then said. “Did Sam take off?”

“Yep,” you said. “I think he was afraid you may have had more than just this in mind when you offered to help me practice.” That made Dean chuckle “I don’t hear you denying it, Winchester.”

“Oh, I’m not.”

“And instead I’m boring you to death,” you added as you tried to ignore the burn in your wrists from constant rubbing as you attempted to shift them enough to create some space to work with.

“Not at all, sweetheart. I meant it when I said I wanted to help. Nobody wants you to knock this stuff out of the park more than I do. You know that.”

“But?”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun afterward.”

You smiled, biting your lip in concentration. “If. I. Ever. Get. Free.”

“Look,” Dean began. “I said I’d help you practice. Practice. Meaning you might not get this on the first try. And that’s okay. Some of this stuff takes some time to figure out. Not necessarily gonna happen overnight. And c’mon … I mean, it really would be a shame to waste an entire evening of having the place to ourselves.”

“Yeah? Well, the sooner I get good at all of this stuff, the sooner I can hunt.”

“All right, all right. I can see you're determined to get this tonight.” You heard his boots on the floor as he came close and bent low enough to speak in your ear. “How about this, sweetheart … you slip these knots and I'll massage the knots out of your muscles when you're done. Deal?”

His warm breath on your neck sent chills down your spine and you lifted your right shoulder far enough to change the angle of your hand, twisting further as you worked to tighten the rope on your left wrist, which you hoped would create some slack for the right.

“You've got a deal, Winchester.”

“Keep it up. You’ll get there.” You felt him press a kiss to your hair before he added. “I’ll be right back.”

The sound of his boots grew faint as he walked away until you couldn’t hear them anymore. You tried not to wonder what he was up to as you refocused on the task at hand. He was probably only gone for ten minutes, maybe less, but it felt longer. Strange how being tied up skewed your sense of time. 

“Doing okay in here?” Dean asked when he returned.

You exhaled with a huff and said, “I can’t believe I’m so bad at this. And this is without a deadline, or - or something evil and creepy that would rather eat me than see me get away.”

He didn’t return to his seat at the table, coming to sit on the hard floor near you insead. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re just not used to not being good at things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice sounded more gruff than you intended as you struggled. 

“Just that you’re one of those people with a lot of natural talent. I’m not saying you don’t know how to work hard. God knows you’ll bust your sweet little ass when you want something bad enough. I’m just saying you’ll get this.” And just as he finished his little pep talk, you slipped your right hand free. “See? Told ya,” he said proudly.

You took a few deep breaths and began twisting and tugging until you managed to free the other hand. Once your hands were free you used them to tug at the rope that was secured across the top of your chest. With a little determination, and a whole lot of wiggling, you managed to slide the rope up the column a few inches at a time until you could tuck your legs beneath you and slowly but surely rise to a standing position.

“There you go,” Dean encouraged.

Just being vertical allowed you to create more slack between the rope and your body, which helped as your used your hands to slide the rope sideways until the knot was within reach. After that you made quick work of the knot, smiling victoriously as the rope dropped to your feet. You heard Dean give two hard claps as you reached up to remove the blindfold, but the feel of Dean’s lips on your own caused you to pause. 

You kissed him back, smiling against his mouth, and stood there trying to catch your breath when he pulled back to remove the blindfold for you.

“You did good,” he said, smiling at you proudly. Then he took your hands in his, kissing your knuckles before inspecting your sore wrists. “Come on,” he said, intertwining your fingers with his own. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

You let him lead you to your bedroom where you saw a bottle of his favorite whiskey on the dresser, a set of glasses, and a bottle of olive oil from the mess hall.

“What’s all this?” you asked as he led you to the side of the bed and gestured for you to sit.

“Less than you deserve,” was all he said as he moved to pour whiskey in the glasses, handing you one. 

You eyed him for a heartbeat before taking a sip, relishing in the pleasant burn as the amber liquid traveled down your throat. Dean followed suit, taking a drink from his own glass before he turned on the lamp on the nightstand and you noticed the first-aid supplies he’d placed there.

Dean pulled up a chair to sit directly in front of you.Taking your free hand, he inspected your wrist closely, eyeing the red and irritated skin where continued pressure and rubbing from the rope had created some burns. He gently cleaned the area with alcohol swabs and you refrained from sucking in air through your teeth at the sting of it. You couldn’t help but notice he was uncharacteristically quiet as he worked.

“Hey big guy,” you said softly, drawing his gaze up to your face. “Everything okay?”

“What? Yeah.” He reached for a tube of triple antibiotic ointment, applying a thin layer around the circumference of your wrist. “I don’t particularly like seeing you hurt,” he began.

“I’m not hurt,” you interjected.

“But,” he continued, glancing at your face again, “it is nice to be able to take care of you for a change.”

You smiled and leaned forward, placing a kiss on his forehead as he secured gauze around your wrist to keep the area clean. You took another sip from your whiskey glass and moved the glass to the other hand while he set to work repeating the process on your other wrist.

When he was satisfied with his treatment of your rope burns, Dean tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and gazed at you. “Better?” he asked.

“Much,” you said as you leaned in toward him. “Thank you.” He met you halfway, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Welcome,” he said. 

“Is that olive oil?” you asked, eyeing the other large bottle next to the whiskey bottle on your dresser. “What for?”

“You’re about to find out, sweetheart. Strip and get comfy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Winchester. A girl could get used to hearing those words.”

He picked up his glass of whiskey, licked his lips and said, “A guy could get used to saying it.”

You bit back a smile as you pulled your top over your head and unfastened your bra. Dean took a sip of his whiskey and then threw a large towel over your comforter for you to lie down on, watching as you shimmied out of your jeans and stretched out on the towel, face down. You watched him finish the whiskey in his glass and then pour a little olive oil into the palm of one hand, rubbing it with the other hand to warm it. 

“I told you I’d massage away any knots slipping those ropes caused, didn’t I?” he said as he knelt on the bed next to you, the mattress dipping a little with his weight.

A smile spread across your lips. “You did.”

“I’m a man of my word,” he added, gently spreading a thin layer of it with long strokes upward over back. 

He massaged your sore muscles, taking care to pay special attention to your shoulders and just below them where he’d secured a rope not long ago. He worked his way down both of your arms one at a time, avoiding your bandaged wrists, but gently rubbing the palms of your hands in circling motions with his thumbs.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Winchester,” you said as he worked, hearing the rumble of a chuckle deep in his chest in response. “I’m serious,” you added. “You’ve got some serious skill at this.”

“If that’s true, it’s news to me, sweetheart.” 

Your thoughts were scattered, torn between the blissful oblivion that 6- you to let go completely and relax, and the increasing arousal, both brought on through Dean’s attentive touch. 

He continued on to your left shoulder, his fingers locating a trigger point just below your shoulder blade and using deep pressure to relax the muscle until you felt the tension there dissipate, the sharp stabbing pain giving way to a dull ache you could ignore. 

Dean found another sore spot closer to your neck on the other side, and spent a moment working that out. He had no idea what he was doing, but apparently it was the right things. He watched your breathing slow as he moved on to your lower back and thighs.

In no rush, he worked his way down your legs and reached your feet, pulling one onto his lap to give you a foot rub.

“You’re spoiling me,” you told him, smiling.

“I’m just getting started,” he said, making goosebumps rise on your flesh.

After a thorough foot rub on both sides, Dean placed your feet back on the bed and began massaging your calves and up to your thighs. Then you felt his warm hands glide across the tense muscles of your back again, starting low and running slowly up to your shoulders with even pressure. A low moan escaped your lips, eyelids falling closed as you enjoyed the feel of his strong hands moving over your back in broad, unhurried strokes. 

It was as if you were slowly sinking into the mattress, and all of the tension you were carrying, all of your stress, melted away with his touch.

Having his hands on your smooth, silky skin was doing things to hm, but no matter how crowded the crotch of his pants felt, he wanted to make sure you were taken care of,+ whatever that may be. 

When he was fairly convinced you were relaxed enough to enjoy all of the other things he wanted to do to you, he crawled up the bed again, smiling at the relaxed look on your face as he bent to kiss your temple. The corner of your mouth twitched up, but it only took a second for Dean to realize it was simply a reflex. He observed your deep breathing for a couple of heartbeats before realizing that you had actually drifted off to sleep in the middle of his sexy, but obviously very efficient, massage.

He carefully climbed off the bed, so as not to jostle you, and pulled the sheet and blanket up to keep you warm. He wiped his hands free of excess oil on the towel nearby and reached for the bottle of whiskey still on your dresser. Pouring himself a drink, he sat in the chair near the bed and took a swig before glancing at the clock on the nightstand. 

It was half past nine. 

Dean grinned, shaking his head as he watched your serene face while you slept.

It was a testament to his feelings for you as he sat there, willing his hard-on to recede, that he couldn’t stop thinking about how goddamn lucky he was.

He finished the whiskey in his glass, shot Sam a text to let him know the bunker was safe to return to - despite his best efforts, he might add - and shed his clothes down to his boxers. When he clicked the lamp off and climbed in the bed next to you, you snuggled up to him in your sleep. He pulled you close and kissed your head, closing his eyes and imagining how much fun he’d have giving you shit about this in the morning.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your training continues, and Dean hands over an object sure to provide some insight into his upbringing.

You tossed the packaging from the gauze and the roll of coban wrap you’d just used in the trash can and shut the lights off in the infirmary. Dean wasn’t in the library or the war room, and one quick check in the mess hall told you one of two things. He was either in his room or in the garage. You grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and continued your search for him.

His bedroom door was wide open and you found him sitting there on the floor, leaning against the bottom of the bed and looking pensive. A leather-bound book was spread open on his lap and an empty beer bottle sat nearby.

“Hey big guy,” you called from the doorway, drawing his gaze up to you.

“Hey,” he said. Then you watched his eyes fall on the bandage on your upper arm. His features hardened in concern. “What happened?” he asked, moving to stand.

“It's nothing,” you insisted, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder as you moved to sit next to him on the floor.

He narrowed his gaze at you, not at all convinced as he accepted the beer you held out to him.

“Nicked myself with a demon blade,” you added matter-of-factly. “It's just a cut. No big deal. I wanted to go on sparring afterward but Sam insisted we call it a night.”

But Dean had angled his body a little to face you as you talked, and he reached out to run his fingers over the blue coban wrap around your bicep that held the gauze in place. “Tell me you didn’t stitch yourself up instead of coming to get me.”

“It wasn’t deep enough to need sutures,” you said. “Although, I am pretty damn good at them, so even one handed I bet I could put you to shame, Winchester.”

“You’re just trying to distract me from the fact that you got yourself hurt tonight,” Dean said, glaring at you a little as he twisted the cap off his beer bottle.

“Yeah, but it’s working.” You smiled and opened your own bottle, holding it out to clink again his. “What’s all this?” You gestured to the book in his lap and took a drink.

“A journal,” he said. “It was my dad’s.”

“Your dad kept a journal?” you asked, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice. You didn’t know John. Hell, you’d only met him once when you were a kid, but looking back, he definitely hadn’t seemed the journaling type.

“A hunting journal,” Dean clarified. “For years this right here is all Sam and I had as far as lore. Anything else had to come from a library, or the internet. That was before we found this place.” He lifted the leather-bound book from his lap and offered it to you. You accepted it reverently, sensing how precious the journal must be to him. “It’s not a novel with a plot, but I thought you might want to look through it.”

“I’d love to,” you told him. “Thank you.”

Dean took a swig of his beer and patted your knee affectionately. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you scanned the pages the journal was open to, seeing John’s hand-scrawled notes there. 

“When you and Sammy were sparring tonight, did you give as good as you got?” Dean asked, his smile evident in his tone.

“I don’t know about that,” you said with a soft laugh. “But I did jump on his back like a monkey and put a choke hold on him that forced him to tap out.”

Dean chuckled. “Damn. I would have liked to have seen that.”

“You can always join us,” you added. “Just because Sam is overseeing my training, that doesn’t mean you can’t jump in and help.”

“I think I’d like our wrestling to stay the naked kind,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

You grinned. “Hard to argue with that logic. What about the range, then?”

“Sweetheart, you’re a crack shot. You don’t need anyone’s help in the range.”

“Maybe not with the actual shooting, but I could use some work on clearing malfunctions and that sort of thing. I know there’s plenty you could show me.”

“You sure you know what you’re asking? I already told you watching you handle a gun is like foreplay. I’m not sure how much help I’d actually be.”

You bit your bottom lip and raised an eyebrow at him. “And?”

His eyes grew slightly wider and he cocked his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “All right then, consider me your official Rangemaster.”

“Will I be calling you Rangemaster?” you teased.

Dean smirked. “Well, that all depends, sweetheart.”

“On what?”

“On how much you actually want to get done.”

You let out a soft laugh and took a drink from your bottle before getting to your feet again. You tucked the leather bound journal of John’s under your arm and held your other hand out to Dean to help him up.

“Where we going?”

“Garage,” you said as he gripped your hand reluctantly and you pulled him to his feet. “I told Sam to meet us out there.”

“We haven’t finished our beers yet,” he said, but his feet carried him forward into the hall as he followed your lead.

“You can drink in the garage just as easily,” you told him. “Come on.”

You made a quick stop at your room to drop off John’s journal, and when the two of you reached the garage Sam was waiting for you just as you expected. He had his own beer and was sitting on a cement barrier near the Impala, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“What are we doing, exactly?” Dean asked.

“A tour of the trunk, so to speak,” Sam said, gesturing to the back of the Impala. 

Dean crooked his head to look at you, and you shrugged and smiled back at him. “I’ve got to learn all of Baby’s secrets sooner or later.”

The look on Dean’s face in response led you to believe your statement was more loaded than even you’d guessed. But he pulled the car keys from his pocket and unlocked the trunk, moving the false bottom and propping it open with a shotgun. He took a step back and waved a hand in a grand gesture. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

The beaming pride on his face was enough to make you momentarily forget that your attention was supposed to be on the contents of the trunk and not Dean’s boyish charm.

“Step on up, sweetheart,” he prompted, holding out a hand and gently resting it on your lower back as you moved forward to stand next to him. “First, you’ve got your basic flashlights, flare guns, lockpicks and fake I.D.’s - which reminds me I need to get started on yours…. Stakes are over here, along with brass knuckles, rope and handcuffs.” Dean crooked an eyebrow and reached for the handcuffs, dangling them in front of you. “On second thought, hold onto these. We might need ‘em later.”

He glanced sideways just in time to catch Sam’s bitch face in response as you laughed and returned the cuffs to the trunk. 

“Next up,” Dean continued without missing a beat, “You’ll find a couple of tasers, and of course salt and holy water.”

“There’s some random tokens and talismans over here,” Sam said, pointing from where he was sitting. “I think we’ve got a dreamcatcher there, a couple of crucifixes, a pentagram necklace. That sort of thing. Dead man’s blood there, too.”

“Over here,” Dean added. “Demon and angel blades. Don’t leave home without ‘em.” He took a swig of his beer, grinning at you.

“We’ve got an assortment of shotguns, and we usually keep three or four in here,” Sam added. The rest are inside the bunker.”

"Is that seriously a grenade launcher?"

"Hey," Dean said gruffly. "That thing is gonna come in handy one of these days. You'll see."

Your eyes grew wide at the almost defensive passion in his voice as you shot Sam a questioning glance. Sam just smiled in exasperation and said, "Don't ask."

“And ammo?” you said, changing the topic.

“Up here,” Dean answered, shifting some things around. “Salt loads, wrought iron rounds, silver bullets.. Oh, and over here are the witch-killing bullets. We’ve got some other handguns beyond our main ones we carry. Those are here.”

You nodded, trying to absorb all of the information, knowing you’d need to spend some more time later thoroughly familiarizing yourself with the contents and location of everything here.

“Some batons and brass knuckles under there,” Sam added, pointing again. “And we usually put our duffel bags here.”

Dean watched as you eyed the spot Sam had gestured to. “There’s room for one more there,” he assured you. “As long as you don’t pack like a girl.”

You smacked his shoulder, unable to stop the smile on your face. “The only thing I’ll be over-packing is first aid supplies.” You picked up the first aid kit from it’s spot in the trunk and opened it up, resting it on your thigh as you glanced through it. 

“Nothing wrong with that kit,” Dean said. “You stocked it well when you made it for us back at your place.”

“True, but now that you’ll have a doctor riding along, there’s a few more things I’d like to add.”

Dean shrugged in agreement. “Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”

You returned the kit to its place and did another sweep of the trunk with your eyes, puffing your cheeks out with an exaggerated breath of air.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Sam said, smiling at you.

“I’m up to the challenge,” you assured him. 

“Not a doubt in my mind about that, Spider Monkey,” Sam added with a smirk. He held his beer bottle out and you laughed and clinked yours against it before taking a drink.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firearms training with Range Master Dean leads to a reward.

You headed to the range while Dean was in the garage the next morning. You worked on drawing your .380 from your bra holster. You dry practiced for twenty minutes before you started firing at the target in front of you on each draw. You stepped back to reload your magazines when Dean walked into the range and you took off your electronic noise canceling headphones and greeted him.

“Nice of you to join me, Range Master.”

“I’d have been here sooner if you’d told me you wanted to start.”

“I needed to work on my draw for a bit anyway,” you told him. “Sam tell you I was back here?”

Dean nodded. “By all means, don’t let me interrupt. I’m happy to just sit back and watch.”

“I’d rather you help me clear malfunctions,” you said as you set aside your pocket pistol and picked up the larger .40 you planned to carry as your main weapon.

“I can do that, too,” Dean said.

A couple of the malfunction types were quite simple and you breezed through them, as well as emergency reloads, but the most complicated one was getting you. Either you could execute it perfectly, but slowly, or you moved quick enough and either skipped a step or did them out of order due to rushing.

“It’s all about muscle memory,” Dean said as he stood just behind your right shoulder while you stood with your .40 caliber pistol pointed in on the target. He’d set the malfunction up by propping the weapon’s action open with a round that was sticking out sideways, along with a loaded magazine. “You do this enough, you’ll be able to do it in your sleep.”

“If you say so,” you replied, hoping he was right.

“One step at a time,” Dean encouraged. “You’ll get faster as you feel comfortable getting the steps in the right order. Just remember,when you squeeze the trigger and get nothing, step out of the line of fire as you tilt the gun upward. When you see that brass coming out of the action, that’s your cue. Check your pocket for another magazine. If you don’t have one, you’re ‘going to have to hold on to the one in the gun. Then lock the action open. If you’ve got a spare mag, strip the one from the gun. If not, retain it and then rotate the gun to the right at your wrist and rack a few times quick to clear it. Insert the mag and release the action before pointing back in on your target.”

You nodded and took a breath before decisively squeezing the trigger. As the weapon failed to fire you announced the steps out loud as you went, trying to stay on track. “Step and look. Brass high. Check for a mag. Lock. Strip. Rack, rack. Rack. Insert. Release the action.” You pointed back in on the target, focused on the front site, and squeezed the trigger, firing at the center of the target.

“See? You got this.” Dean said proudly from over your shoulder. “Your shot was dead center.”

“Yeah, but in a gunfight they’d take me out in the seven seconds it takes me to get all that done.”

“That comes with practice. I know you. I know you’ll have that down to two seconds in the next couple of weeks.”

“That’s the goal,” you said as you unloaded the gun and locked the action open, setting up the malfunction again just as Dean had so you could give it another go.

You ran through the malfunction a dozen more times before you started to feel some consistency in your movements.

“Take a break,” Dean said as he inserted a clip into his own gun, which was a .45 ACP with fancy ivory grips.

“You want to show me how it’s done?” you teased.

Dean looked at you from the corner of his eye, before he locked open the action and placed a sideways brass before slowly sliding the action forward until it stopped on the round. “If you insist, sweetheart.”

You stood back a few steps to enjoy the view as he angled his feet and pointed in on the target. It was graceful and deadly, the way he fluidly moved from one action to the other, seamlessly clearing the malfunction before firing off two shots to the thoracic cavity on the paper target. He made it look easy, while simultaneously making your pulse jump a little and your knees slightly weak.

“Hot damn, Winchester.”

Dean brought his gun to the ready again long enough to wink at you over his shoulder. When he pointed in again, he emptied the rest of the magazine into the target, placing a solid group in the center.

You gave him a slow clap as he returned his empty weapon to the back of his jeans where he liked to carry it.

“Is it hot in here?” you asked, fanning yourself with a hand. “Or is it just you?”

Dean hooked a finger into your belt loop and pulled you to him until your hips bumped, cradling your jaw and pressing an appreciative kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back he gazed at you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face and saying, “Pretty sure it's all you,” he said. “Do you like this .40 you’re shooting?” he asked as he took a step toward the table where you’d set the empty weapon.

“Yeah, I do,” you replied. “Feels good in my hands. Nice and solid, but it doesn’t kick like a mule.”

Dean did a chamber check before turning the gun over in his hands, inspecting it with a nod. “Well, you shoot it like it was made for you.”

“About that,” you said slowly. “Anything I should know about where to aim when the thing I’m trying to kill isn’t shaped like Mr. Human-paper-target?”

Dean inserted a loaded magazine into the gun and racked a round into the chamber. He held it carefully to the side, wary of where the muzzle was pointing as he moved toward you. He turned you to face downrange with his free hand and stepped up close behind you, bringing the gun around for you to accept from him.

“Lucky for us, regardless of the monster we’re after, some things don’t change,” he said as you adjusted your grip on it. His breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck as he spoke, and you had to remind yourself to focus. “Aside from ghosts, most everything you’re going to pull a gun on has a heart and other vital organs. Stick with a controlled pair to the chest. Go ahead.”

You nodded and pointed in, feeling him move back a few inches to give you space, but not so far that you weren’t acutely aware of him right there. You aimed, took the slack out of the trigger and pressed until the weapon fired. Then you released the trigger far enough to let it reset and pressed again for another shot.

You brought the weapon down to a 45 degree angle at the ready as you eyed the target. You’d put both bullets within three inches of each other in the thoracic cavity.

“Just like that,” Dean said proudly, stepping close to you again. “Do it again, but this time I don’t want you to pull down after the second shot. Stay pointed in. The kill zone doesn’t change much, but as a general rule monsters aren’t as fragile as humans. I’ve seen them take some serious punishment and just keep on coming. Don’t relax until you’re sure the thing is down and out.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Go for the headshot.”

You pointed back in on the target, delivering another controlled pair and following up with a third shot to the cranial ocular cavity. You stayed pointed in long enough to take a few deep breaths before decisively lowering your gun.

“That’s it.” Dean said as you unloaded the weapon and returned it to the table at the back of the range.

“One more thing before we’re done,” Dean said, causing you to pause and look up at him. “Grab your .380 again.”

You picked up the gun and said, “You want me to load it?”

“Yep.” He stood there in silence, watching as you slid rounds into a magazine until it was full before inserting it in the small pistol. “Okay. Now what?”

Dean’s smirk was a little heated as he said, “Show me exactly how this fancy boob holster of yours works.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes at him as he spun you to face downrange and playfully swatted your ass. “Time me?” you asked.

“Sure thing.” He pulled out his phone while you performed a chamber check and a mag check and secured the pistol in the holster inside your shirt.

“I’m ready when you are,” “Dean said, a finger hovering over his phone screen, ready to hit the timer.

You took a breath to center yourself, eyeing your target. “Count me down.”

Dean said, “3 … 2 … 1…. Go!”

In a series of quick motions you cleared you shirt with your support hand and drew your pistol, firing from a position that was tight and close to your body, but safe, which allowed for a quick shot at the target.

Dean glanced down at his phone screen and back up, and you saw that a new fire was burning in those green eyes of his as he took a step toward you. He held his hand out for your gun, and you handed it to him without question, watching in curiosity as he set it down on the table a few feet away and then stalked toward you, pinning you up against the wall.

Then his lips were on yours in a hungry kiss. You kissed him back eagerly, one hand going to the back of his neck and the other falling to his chest where you fisted his flannel.

Dean cupped your face with one hand, the other roaming to your backside where he squeezed and pulled you flush up against him.

You broke the kiss long enough to gaze into his eyes and say, “My draw time?”

Dean’s chest huffed with a breath and he cocked his head and answered. “1.39 seconds.”

You grinned victoriously and his mouth covered yours again. You moved your hand low enough to slip under the material of his t-shirt and tease at the skin of his hip with your nails. He moaned into the kiss, and the sound was so needy it wrecked you from the inside out. You felt his knee part your legs and you rested your weight on his thigh, craving any sort of friction there.

Then Dean’s hands moved to tug at the bottom of your shirt and he broke the kiss to inspect your face, waiting for permission he knew you’d grant.

You nodded, helping him pull your shirt up over your head before he tossed it over his shoulder with a hand.

You encouraged him to discard his own shirt, hiking it halfway up for him until he finished the job, tossing it aside.

Dean licked his lips as his eyes fell on the empty holster still nestled in the center of your bra. He let out a guttural sound as he leaned in and eagerly planted kisses along the swell of your breast.

Then a thought struck you that literally had you taking his face in your hands to gain his full attention.

“Dean! What if Sam … ” You didn’t have to finish your sentence, Dean realizing instantly that you were mortified by the idea of having his brother walk in on the two of you like this, just as much for Sam’s sake as anything.

“Here,” Dean said, gripping your hips and lifting you up, prompting you to wrap your legs around his middle and lock your ankles. He carried you across the range and positioned you in front of the only door with your back up against it, the solid weight of him holding you there effectively blocking access from the other side.

Satisfied, you kissed him again, humming into his mouth when his hand cupped you through your bra. His thumb traced over the lace, back and forth, causing a shiver to ripple through you. Then, as if he couldn’t physically contain himself, he slid one bra strap off your shoulder and pulled the cup of your bra down low enough to allow him access.

He cupped your breast from below with a hand and wrapped his perfect lips around your nipple, sucking. You gasped and raked your fingers through his hair, tugging on it reflexively as he released your nipple with a pop.

“Dean,” you said, your voice needy and cracking.

“Put your feet down,” he responded.

You did as he asked, unlocking your ankles and letting him set you back on the floor. You willed your knees to hold you up as he made quick work of your button and zipper on your jeans and tugged them down over your hips.

Head falling back against the door, you reminded yourself to keep moving air through your lungs as you lifted one foot off the ground at a time for him.

Once your pants were no longer an obstacle, Dean got down on his knees before you and pressed his open mouth to your panties over your center. His hot breath penetrated the thin fabric and you instantly felt the wetness there increase.

Then he was discarding your panties as well, lifting one of your legs up to hook your knee over his shoulder, granting him perfect access.

One of his hands cupped your ass, encouraging you to tilt your hips forward as he licked your center. You gasped again, this time holding your breath for several heartbeats. Pleasure buzzed through you as Dean sucked and licked you into oblivion.

You held onto his hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other. The scruff on his face tickled your skin and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. The sensations built to the point that you were on the edge when Dean pulled back and lowered your leg back to the floor.

You leaned against the door, eyes closed, breathing in and out and trying not to complain about the fact that he’d stopped when you’d been right there.

But the sound of his zipper made you snap your eyes open again. Dean discarded his pants and boxers in record time and stepped up to you again.

He took one of your hands and turned you to face the wall. You leaned forward, hands on the wall in front of you, and spread your legs slightly in anticipation. Dean gripped your hips and you felt him drag across your entrance, coating himself in your slick. Then he slowly sank into you, reaching around to cup one of your breasts with a hand through your bra as he froze in place, allowing you to adjust to his size momentarily.

You took a deep breath, and a little needy sigh escaped with your exhale, and that seemed to be all the prompting he needed.

Dean set a rhythm that was hot and hurried. One hand held your waist and the other cupped your breast from behind. While you’d noticed he normally liked to take his time with you, today he didn’t seem to have the restraint for it. The angle of leaning up against the wall like that had him dragging across all the right places, and it wasn’t long before you were ready to snap again.

“Dean,” you breathed. “Don’t - don’t stop.”

His only response was a choked off moan before he picked up the pace. You could tell he was close by the strangled sounds he was biting back, and then you felt his one hand move lower, his fingers sliding back and forth across your clit as he pumped in and out of you. You gasped and reached up with one hand to grip his hair as your orgasm tore through you.

Your hips bucked a little of their own volition and Dean gripped you tighter, holding you steady as he thrust in and out of you.

You were still contracting around him, struggling to keep your feet beneath you, when his own release came and his whole body pressed you flush against the wall.

He dipped his head low, his breath stifled against your neck as his body shuddered with the force of his orgasm.

You both stood there for a moment, panting, smiling.

You felt him drag his lips across your shoulder before he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Told you I'd get distracted,” he stated.

You let out a soft laugh, leaning your cheek against the wall. “Told you I wouldn't mind.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You continue your training and finally get around to reading John Winchester's journal while Sam and Dean are away.

You spent the next six weeks training your ass off.

You quickly realized your kickboxing habit, as an outlet for the roller coaster of emotions that came with being an E.R. doctor, had set a strong foundation for some of the hand to hand combat skills you now worked to refine and expand.

True to his promise, Sam was tough on you, providing good insight without having unrealistic expectations of the time it would take for you to become proficient in a fight.

In the end Sam would make the call, but it was just as important to you, or more so, that Dean was confident in your skills. It was the only way you’d feel like you weren't serving as a dangerous distraction on a case when the time came.

The guys took on two cases during that time, and you reassured them both that you were content to stay behind and keep training while they were gone, on the condition that they both came back home to you in one piece.

You were happy to stay behind to prepare as a means to hunt in the near future. So you took your pent-up energy out on the punching bag and the targets in the firing range. You also took to preparing a brand new first aid kit that was more suited to your skill set than the one you’d made for the guys after first meeting them.

Your new kit included an assortment of supplies with all of the usual essentials, but also a few things Sam and Dean would never bother carrying, including an automatic blood pressure cuff, a stethoscope, a digital thermometer, antibiotics, anti-nausea medication, a finger pulse oximeter, nylon sutures with a suture needle, nitrile gloves, Dermabond - the medical equivalent of the superglue Sam and Dean usually stocked - and a couple of CPR pocket masks.

The second case the guys took while you stayed behind to train called them away from the bunker for a long ten days. You’d continued to train and study, and eagerly awaited their return.

You also took advantage of the alone time to finally familiarize yourself with John Winchester’s journal. Dean had found new ways to understand you and your past by reading your mom’s novel, and, while John’s journal wasn’t as comprehensive, it also didn’t contain any of the the filler and fiction that laced the stories your mom had written. John’s journal was full of facts, along with his personal discoveries, theories and insights. There were also bits of memories scattered throughout.

 

**_November 6, 1983_ **

_I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week, we were a normal family… eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… when I try to think back, get it straight in my head… I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out… I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything._

_Mary used to write in these books she kept by the bed. She said it helped her remember all the little things, about the boys, me… I wish I could read her journals, but like everything else, they’re gone. Burned into nothing._

**_December 4, 1983_ **

_Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side – or from his brother. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night._

**_December 8, 1983_ **

_My sons need me… and my wife’s investigation needs me. Those two things are all that matter to me now. I’ve been canvassing the neighborhood, asking questions… I swear, a lot of people conveniently aren’t home when I knock. Maybe they don’t want to face a grieving widow… or the man they think killed his wife._

_A fire doesn’t just start. I’m convinced now that someone was in my house that night. It’s the only way any of this even starts to make sense. I started digging around at the library. I’m collecting old police files, going through microfiche… looking for any fires, arsons, with similar Mos. I’m gonna find this guy, and when I do… God forgive me…_

**_December 11, 1983_ **

_Sammy has finally started sleeping through the night, and now that Dean shares a bed with him, he’s out like a light as well. But me… I close my eyes and she’s there. It always starts the same, I’m seeing her as she was before that night, beautiful and happy and alive. And I’m not seeing it, I’m living it, it’s like I’m there… it’s so real, I know I can reach out and touch her. And so I do… I reach out… and suddenly I’m back to that night, to the blood and the fire and Mary, Mary is on the ceiling, and how did she get on the ceiling… she can’t be on the ceiling…_

_Here’s the weird part. When I wake up, sweating and panting… I swear there is something there. I can feel it, hovering over me, over my boys. It’s watching, it’s waiting, I think it’s even mocking me… You couldn’t stop this. You couldn’t keep her safe. You can’t keep them safe._

 

**_December 25, 1983_ **

_Mary will never see Dean hit a home run. She’ll never see Sammy walk, or hear him say his first words. She won’t take Dean to his first day at school, or stay up all night with me worrying the first night he takes the car out. It’s not right that she’s not here, and that’s all I could think about today. I’m so angry I can barely see straight – I want my wife back._

By its very nature, John’s journal really was a reflection of the man and his troubles. So many of the passages were laced with pain. You could feel the loss, the heartache he must have lived with every day at having the love of his life taken from him so cruelly. And the responsibility of having to raise his boys in a world that suddenly held all the stuff of nightmares, but without the clarity and support he would have needed to find healthy coping mechanisms.

You hadn’t expected to find a new appreciation for the balance your parents worked so hard to provide for you and your brother. Walking the blurred lines between appearing to be a normal family and carrying the sometimes suffocating weight of the secrets - _the truth_ \- had been exhausting. But Dean and Sam had known layers of burden you could only now begin to understand as an adult who had lost everyone you’d ever loved.

You always had the sense that Dean and Sam had lived ten lifetimes in their thirty-something years on earth, but you’d never realized how many of those had come and gone when they’d been just children. You brushed away stubborn tears from your eyes as you read.

You’d always been drawn to Dean’s caring nature. To the way he put everyone’s needs above his own. It was an admirable quality that came out in many ways, and you’d playfully teased him about it when he tried to shrug it off as no big deal. But you’d been acutely aware of that part of him from the beginning. The selfless, compassionate, sometimes reckless part of Dean that was so deeply ingrained into who he was that he didn’t hesitate to put himself in danger to protect those he cared about.

And reading John’s journal just solidified all of those things you had admired and loved about Dean, while breaking your heart a little bit at the same time.

Your heart was heavy with a burden you hadn’t understood enough to help him carry until now, and simultaneously bursting with a newfound appreciation for everything you already loved about Dean. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and hug him close, but he was hundreds of miles away, doing what he was good at. Doing the only thing he knew how to do. Instead, you found yourself wandering into Dean’s bedroom after midnight and wrapping yourself in one of his flannels before crawling into his bed.

Seeking comfort in the lingering scent of his shampoo on his pillow, you played back memories in your mind’s eye of your time with Dean, of stories he and Sam had told you over meals and drinks, seeing those events in a whole new light now that you had John’s journaled insights into the younger version of the man you loved.

Missing him so bad your chest hurt with the weight of it, you eventually succumbed to a fitful sleep in Dean's bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entries from John's journal are not my work. Originally found on this website: http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/John%27s_Journal_(diary_entries)


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't shake the images John's journal brings to mind, prompting you to share with Dean as you try to reconcile the stories of him as a boy with the man you know now.

You could hardly contain your relief when Dean called the following day just after lunch.

“You’re both okay?” you asked when he told you they were on their way home.

“Just a little tired, that’s all,” Dean assured you. “Been driving all night and most of the day. Couldn’t get out of those suburbs fast enough once we knew we’d handled things last night. We want to make it home this evening, but we’re pulled over at a little lake and gonna take a power nap in the car before we hit the road again.”

“Okay,” you said. “If you text me when you’re about an hour out I can have dinner ready when you get here.”

“Won’t say no to that.” You could hear the tired smile in his voice as he spoke.

“Get some sleep,” you prompted. “And don’t keep driving if you need to crash at a motel until morning. I don’t care when you get here as long as you make it back in one piece.”

“I always do, sweetheart,” Dean replied. 

You paused, choosing not to point out that the two of you obviously had different qualifications for the statement “making it back in one piece” as you remembered having to haul him into the infirmary on a stretcher with Sam’s help not that long ago.

“Be safe,” you added.

“Will do. See you soon.”

You hung up the phone and hit the bunker’s makeshift gym to blow off some pent-up energy and kill some time until the guys got home. Until the time you could hold Dean again and begin to reconcile what you’d learned about his childhood with the man you loved today.

You were waiting in the garage when the guys pulled the Impala inside just after eight o’clock that night. Sam’s door was closest to you and he climbed out and hugged you tight in greeting.

“Glad you made it back okay,” you told him as he released you. “Hungry?”

“I'm starving,” he admitted with a smile. 

“Good,” you added. “Dinner's waiting.”

Sam headed inside while Dean came around the car to meet you.

“Hey there, Winchester,” you said, watching a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he approached.

“Hey Doc.” He barely got the words out before you interrupted him with a kiss. Dean responded eagerly, one hand cupping your cheek while the other gripped your waist. Your lips moved against his, all the while hoping he could sense in the kiss just how much you'd missed him.

When you finally pulled back for air, you found yourself staring into those green eyes of his, and then you were wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him close.

Dean didn't hesitate, throwing his arms around you, too. You felt his warmth and breathed in the scent of him, taking a long moment to appreciate the way his hard body molded perfectly up against yours before you pulled back to gaze at him again.

“That was quite the welcome home, sweetheart,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “I could definitely get used to that.”

“Don't get too used to it,” you teased. “I plan on tagging along real soon.”

“Touche.” He kissed your cheek and laced your fingers with his as the two of you headed inside to join Sam at the table in the mess hall.

It wasn't that you were distracted during dinner. It was more that you found yourself appreciating Sam and Dean both in new ways. They told you about the hunt, giving you all the juicy details about the Arachnes they'd taken down. Beyond just being eternally grateful that they'd both survived the encounter with the human/spider-esque creature, your recent reading - as well as your extensive training over the last month and a half - gave you a whole new perspective as you listened to them recount the events. 

“That's when Sam took her head clean off with the machete,” Dean said proudly in a matter-of-fact tone he might have used to brag about his brother’s ability to throw a touchdown pass.

“Yeah, well, she would have eaten me otherwise,” Sam said with a humorless laugh. “Nearly did.”

“You and me both, brother,” Dean said with pride still gleaming in his eyes. He clinked his beer bottle against Sam's and took a swig. “Thanks for diner,” he said, reaching over to pat your knee.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam agreed. “Tasted great. And I ate too much. I’m gonna have to run it off in the morning.”

“Wake me up and I’ll go with you,” you told him.

“You know, there are more fun ways to burn calories, sweetheart,” Dean added, crooking an eyebrow at you. “How about we get some cardio in tonight?”

“I thought you were exhausted after driving all this way?” you said, returning the gesture.

“The nap,” he said simply. “This is why I stopped off for a nap at the lake earlier.” Then he gave Sam a smug look that made Sam roll his eyes.

“Don’t take it personal if I don’t wait til morning to go for that run,” Sam said to you.

The three of you sat around for another half an hour visiting. You’d missed them. Both of them. And training and studying by yourself while they were off hunting without you had been more tortuous than you cared to admit outloud. It added another layer to your resolve, knowing that the sooner you impressed Sam and Dean, the sooner you’d be joining them.

Dean was giving Sam a hard time about the Arachnes wanting to change him so she could use him to mate when you began clearing the table. You put away the leftovers, knowing Dean would appreciate the chance to snack on them tomorrow. You were washing the dishes when Sam approached, looping a long arm around your shoulder from behind to give you a little squeeze.

“Thanks again for dinner,” he said sweetly. “I’m gonna grab a shower and crash for the night.”

“Don’t mention it,” you said, setting down the dish towel to give his arm a squeeze in return. “Sleep good.”

“Might want some ear plugs,” Dean called out to Sam as he left the mess hall, prompting Sam to flip him the bird over his shoulder as he went.

You picked up another dirty dish and soaped it up, grabbing a sponge to scrub with. Dean bumped your hip lightly with his as he stepped up next to you, picked up the towel, and set to work drying dishes. You smiled at him as the two of you worked together..

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Doc,” he observed as he set the last plate in its place in the cupboard.

You raised your eyes to meet his gaze, certain he was going to follow up with another question like, ‘Is something wrong?’

And, of course, nothing was actually wrong. A simple ‘it's nothing’ would have been an honest answer. In fact, everything was right. He and Sam were home safe, and you didn’t have one thing in the world to complain about. But that didn’t mean your heart wasn’t bursting at the seams with something you could barely understand yourself, let alone put into words.

But Dean didn’t ask what was wrong. He also didn’t try to minimize the fact that you were obviously in deep thought.

“Will you tell me about it?” he asked instead, catching you off guard. “Whatever it is that’s got you stuck in that pretty head of yours tonight. Just tell me.”

You let out a deep breath, feeling like the wind was going out of your sails, and any pretense disappearing right along with it.

“I … I just … ” 

God, this was harder than you’d even anticipated. But Dean took you by the hand and led you back over to the table. He sat down himself and pulled you over onto his lap so you were straddling his legs and facing him. The two of you were eyelevel now, and you realized that had been his exact intention with this seating arrangement.

He wrapped his arms around your lower back to support you, locking his fingers together there. And then he waited.

“While you were gone I finally had the time to go through your dad’s journal,” you began. Dean’s brow furrowed just slightly at your words, but still he waited for you to go on. With practiced patience you’d only expect from someone twice his age, he waited.

And that was just the thing, wasn’t it? He’d always had to act twice his age. Or more. That was clear to you now. 

You gazed into his green eyes … eyes that often gleamed with boyish charm, but could just as easily carry the weight and burdens of the world in their depths. And rather than question how Dean eyes managed reflect both of those things - sometimes one right after the other - you now wondered how he ever managed to juggle the weight and the burden and still offer to take on more. Just like he was doing right now with you. 

Lesser men would have broken long before. Lesser men wouldn’t still smile in that genuine, light-hearted way Dean always managed to smile at you.

And you knew you couldn’t look him in the eye and describe to him the warring emotions inside of your chest that were the result of reading his father’s journaled insights. You couldn’t describe how you’d always known he was special, and that even now you were trying to fully appreciate that.

“And, well, it broke my heart a little,” you said honestly, giving voice to the only truth you could share with him in that moment that would also explain your mood tonight.

Dean blinked at you in surprise and then gazed intently at you. “Hell, sweetheart, I didn’t give you the journal to make you sad, or to make you feel sorry for me-”

“I don’t,” you interrupted. “I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m sorry for the circumstances you were in, but all of that stuff you went through as a kid is what made you the man you are today. The man I’m madly in love with. I’m more sorry that I didn’t know before now. I mean, I knew you were on the road a lot, and that not having your mom around would mean you had a vastly different experience than I did…. I knew I was asking a lot of you by wanting to hunt, but I didn’t-”

Dean brushed his thumb over your lips to quiet you then, and you sighed, closing your eyes as his mouth covered yours in a soft kiss. 

You leaned into the kiss, resting your palm over his heart where you could feel the familiar forceful thump of it there, all steady and reassuring. You kissed him back slowly, tenderly. You knew your own heart was actually overflowing with emotion when it bubbled up in the form of tears in your eyes. 

One tear escaped and slid down your cheek, salting the kiss and prompting Dean to slowly pull back to gaze at you. The concern you saw reflecting in his eyes was just enough to cause a few more tears to spill down your cheeks.

“Hey.” His voice was soft and low as he brushed away your tears with his thumbs. “Who’s breaking whose heart now?”

You leaned your forehead to rest against his. “I … I don’t know what I was expecting when I started reading that journal-”

“Come on now,” Dean said, and you heard the genuine worry in his tone. “Look at me, sweetheart. I'm the same guy you've always known. Nothing's changed, certainly not just because you binged ‘Raising a Winchester 101’.”

You smiled a little at that. “Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you surprise me somehow.”

Dean gave a little shrug and said, “I could say the same thing about you, Doc,” as he lightly booped your nose.

You gripped the collar of Dean’s flannel with your fists and leaned close. Pressing your lips to his, the two of you shared a slow kiss that wrapped you in warmth and comfort like a blanket by a fireplace on a rainy night. 

When the kiss ended you sat back, filling your lungs with a deep breath, and realizing you felt fifty pounds lighter.

“You may not be a doctor, Winchester,” you said, giving him another quick kiss. “But you are a damn good healer.”

Dean’s eyes were gentle and a little glossy, and then you watched the instantaneous shift in them before the corner of his mouth hitched up in a smile. “Dr. Winchester,” he said slowly, playing on your word choice. “I gotta say, I kinda like the sound of that.”

“You know what I like the sound of? You carrying me to your bed to remind me what I’ve been missing while you’ve been gone.”

“Well hell, sweetheart. Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Dean kissed you, harder this time, like he was determined to remind you why he’d been worth waiting for. Then, to your surprise, he pulled back, and you could see mischief glinting in those green of his eyes. “Not gonna fall asleep just as I get you naked in my bed, are you?”

You bit your lip and sighed. “Never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Not ever,” Dean said with a grin as he quickly pulled your legs around him and rose to his feet. You squealed, having just enough time to lock your ankles at his back before he was vertical. Your heart raced with anticipation as he carried you out of the mess hall.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam have a little surprise for you.

The next afternoon Dean rode with you into town in your truck. You half-expected him to feel a little out of sorts in the passenger side of the pickup, but to your pleasant surprise he had climbed up inside and gotten comfortable. He’d put on your favorite pair of aviators you had sitting on the dash and then rolled down the passenger side window to let the breeze blow though the cab as you drove.

He half-heartedly grumbled about the country music station you had playing on the radio, but he was in too good of a mood to pretend the music bothered him for long. He was even smiling as he stared out the window as the fields passed by one after another.

Your trip into town was pretty uneventful, consisting mostly of a trip to the post-office to pick up some packages, but not before Dean insisted you made a stop at the 7-11 for Slurpees. The first time he’d taken you for Slurpees, he’d been behind the wheel of the truck, trying to help you process the overwhelming emotions of losing your brother by reminding you that joy in life could still come from the simple things.

Today the Slurpees were just a tasty, refreshing representation of the relaxed afternoon you and Dean shared, running little errands and just enjoying spending time together after the last case had taken him away for so long.

Dean had gone inside the post office with you to retrieve the packages you knew were waiting in one of the larger mail receptacle boxes. You’d taken the key left in your smaller assigned box and used it to open the larger one, finding a few smaller boxes and two large bubble envelopes.

Dean carried half of the packages for you as you made your way to the truck again. “Anything fun and sexy in here?” he asked as he inspected the packages a little closer before setting them on the middle of the seat.

“Not exactly,” you answered as you started the ignition and waited for him to climb inside and shut his door. “Just stuff to play FBI when the time comes.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, eyeing the top package with new interest. “Now when you say 'play’ you mean … ”

“For hunts,” you clarified with a laugh.

Dean frowned. “But you're going to have to try all of this on later. To make sure it all fits. Am I right?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “I'm not using my fake FBI outfits like lingerie to get you all riled up. Besides, pant suits are not sexy.”

“Fine then. I'll settle for real lingerie,” he tried.

You had to give the man credit. He was persistent when he knew what he wanted. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Oh sweetheart, you know you don't need to wear anything to get me riled up. I mean that,” he emphasized with a quirked eyebrow. “Like, literally nothing at all would do just fine.”

You laughed as you pulled back out of the parking lot and onto the road again. Dean smiled as he watched you, reaching over to lift his Slurpee out of the cup holder to take a sip through the big green straw.

You’d turned up the radio when your favorite song came on, singing along to the words loudly and feeling his gaze on you. You didn’t stop singing as you turned your head to smile at him, finding a small smile tugging on his lips as well.

“You’re such a dork,” he said, laughing softly. “A sexy, brilliant dork.”

“Thank you,” you said without hesitation or insult, not missing a beat before you returned to singing just in time to nail the chorus to the song. When the song finished you picked up your own Slurpee, taking a few slow sips through the straw as you drove. “Nights are beautiful here,” you said, absentmindedly watching the sun near the horizon.

“Mmmm,” Dean agreed, following your gaze out the window toward the sunset. He removed your sunglasses and returned them to their spot on the truck’s dash, presumably to enjoy the orange and pink streaked sky without the filter of the aviator lenses.

Once back at the bunker, you parked the truck and cut the engine.

“Listen,” Dean said, closing the passenger door of the truck and walking around to meet you. “Give me like ten minutes before you come inside.”

“You want me to stay here?” you asked, unable to mask the surprise in your tone.

“Yeah, just, uh, hang out here in the garage for a bit.”

“The garage,” you said with a deadpan expression that rivaled one of Dean's.

“I'm asking for ten minutes,” Dean said, reaching out to touch your arm affectionately. “Can you do that for me?”

You studied his expression, confused by what you saw in those green eyes of his. “Sure…. Why not?”

“Here, I'll carry these in for you.” He gathered your packages in his arms and turned to go.

“I'm not wearing those to have sex, if that's what your up to,” you added with a laugh.

“Buzzkill,” Dean called out over his shoulder. But he didn't seem the least bit deterred, leaving you to wonder what he was actually up to.

You casually paced around the garage, waiting. Ten minutes felt more like twenty by the time the clock on your phone confirmed you’d waited like Dean had asked.

You weren't sure what you were expecting as you reached the crow’s nest, but from your quick glance, Dean and Sam weren't anywhere to be seen. It wasn't until you neared the table in the war room that you noticed what was lying on it.

There was a paintball gun on the table, complete with a hopper that was fully loaded with the little paint-filled balls. There was also a pair of safety goggles. Next to that was a note in Dean's handwriting.

> The bunker is under attack. The most irresistible man on the planet has been taken hostage by his sasquatch of a brother. Your mission, should you choose to accept it - and you will because there is pie and hot sex involved at completion, in that order - is to clear the bunker, take out any threats and save the hostage. The sasquatch is armed with the latest technology known to children, and you’ve been issued your own weapon for your defense. You have five minutes. Ready, set, go!

You smiled and glanced around the room, reminding yourself that really nothing surprised you with the Winchesters these days. Then you remembered you were being timed, and you grabbed your paintball gun and put on the safety goggles. You took a breath to center you and moved forward toward the library, hanging to the left as you approached the entry.

It was a strange feeling, being hunted in the bunker. Paintball guns or not, it was enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end just thinking about it. Sam was a formidable enemy. You’d spent enough time with him these last few months to know that he was hella scary when he wanted to be.

With your paintball gun pointed in as you moved, you took the three steps to the library quickly, remembering what you'd learned about minimizing your time in an entry. You scanned with your eyes vertically from floor to ceiling as more of the library came into view.

You continued forward, scanning the library in slices, and when you side stepped to finally see the corner to your far right, you found a life sized cardboard cutout of a werewolf staring back at you, the kind born of classic horror movies. You fired two rounds at the center of it’s chest, biting back a smile as green paint splattered the target.

Once you were satisfied your silver bullets - er, paintballs - would have taken down the creature, you moved on. You couldn’t see past the waist-high bookshelves on either side of you, and you remembered Sam’s words as you side stepped to the left.

_‘The room isn’t clear until you’ve checked everywhere. If something or someone wants to hide, you’d be surprised the measures they’ll take to hide. Don’t assume a place is safe until you know for a fact it is.’_

When no boogie monsters were waiting on the other sides of the bookshelves, and you were certain the library was clear, you continued on.

The mess hall was next, and you entered quickly, checking to your left and right immediately for any threats.

You found a cardboard cutout of Edward from the Twilight movies near the table. You instinctively pulled your knife from it's sheath in the back of your jeans and gripped Edward’s shoulder long enough to allow you to slice his head clean off.

Only then did you allow yourself to grin at the choice in target. You suspected the sparkly, fictional vampire had been Dean's idea. You also wondered how he'd refrained from tearing the thing apart himself. You had to admit, the act of had been quite cathartic.

You turned to face the hallway just as a hand holding a paintball gun shot out from beyond the doorway, blindly firing a shot in your direction. You'd seen it in just enough time to side step and avoid being hit, but only barely. Paint splattered on the wall nearby. Way too close….

The hand - Sam's hand - had retracted immediately. You pointed your own paintball gun in the direction of the doorway and slowly approached, knowing he could be anywhere on the other side.

You hung to the left, side stepping and scanning each new slice of the hallway as it appeared in your field of vision. Once you could see everything but the farthest corner, you brought your gun close to your body and passed through the doorway in one swift motion, checking left and then right for a glimpse of Sam or any other threat.

He was nowhere to be seen. You cautiously moved down the hall, pausing to check doorknobs as you went. The first three doors were locked, but the bathroom door was wide open. You took a moment to clear that room, taking out a zombie cardboard cutout target that was lurking in the shower with a controlled pair to the cranial ocular cavity.

You carefully entered the hallway again and moved deeper down. The note had mentioned a hostage, and that meant your end goal was most likely the bunker's dungeon.

You were checking the next doorknob to see if it was locked when you caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Your head snapped up and you raised your gun in Sam's direction as he stepped out into the hall from a room further down.

He only appeared long enough to fire off a series of three quick shots in your direction, but you had retreated and were ducking back into the bathroom just as the paintballs whizzed past your shoulder.

Two of them, anyway. The third grazed you, leaving yellow paint on the top of your jacket sleeve.

“Take that, Spider Monkey!” he called out from down the hall.

“You barely winged me!” you hollered back. You expected a smartass comment in return, but there was only silence. Which meant he was on the prowl again. You carefully moved further down the hallway, continually checking doors, and pausing to clear a storage room when you reached it.

Once back out in the hall, you closed in on the dungeon, knowing Sam was going to make another appearance now that you had almost reached your destination. You made it all the way to the dungeon door without seeing him again, but you weren’t so naive as to think you’d accomplished anything just yet.

You had to pause pick the lock on the dungeon door, using the lock pick set you’d begun carrying in your pants pocket ever since Sam had suggested the idea. Your hands were shaking just slightly as you worked, a result of the adrenaline rush. You could only imagine how difficult picking the lock would have been if you’d been in real danger. You took a breath, reminding yourself that you had steady hands under pressure and feeling a bit steadier as you worked after that. Once the lock was released, you picked up your weapon again and slowly opened the dungeon door, taking in the scene before you as quickly as possible.

Dean was in a chair in the center of the room, bound and gagged. There was a cardboard cutout of one of the witches from the Hocus Pocus movie standing nearby. Without hesitation, you fired a controlled pair to the target’s chest, followed by a headshot. Then you spun and pointed in behind you in anticipation of trouble.

Just as you'd expected, Sam came into view in the dungeon’s doorway, his large boots skidding on the tile as he raised his gun to point in at you. But you'd been ready for him, and you managed to fire first, hitting him three times and painting his flannel-clad chest green.

Sam's surprised expression changed almost instantly to one of mock horror as he gripped at his heart with his free hand and proceeded to fall over dramatically, collapsing to the floor in a heap.

You grinned, shaking your head as you turned to glance at Dean.

“Think he's down?” you asked. “Or maybe just one more for good measure….”

Dean gestured with a jerk of his chin toward Sam, unable to speak through the gag in his mouth.

You fired one more shot in Sam's direction, this time intentionally aiming just above him so the shot carried on down the hall.

“Shit!” Sam called out in surprise, laughing. “I'm down!”

You laughed out loud and said, “You can never be too careful.” Lowering your paintball gun, you set to work freeing Dean. You removed his gag first and then moved to his back to work on the knots at his wrists.

“Damn, sweetheart,” Dean said with joy. “Can I just say how happy I am that you made it to the dungeon before taking Sammy down like that? I would have hated to miss it.”

Sam was on his feet now, studying the green goopy paint on his shirt. “I want it noted for the record that I hit you first,” he said to you with an indignant laugh.

“You barely grazed me,” you argued, releasing Dean's wrists.

Dean got to his feet and glanced at the yellow paint on your shoulder. “She's right, Sammy. She blew you away.”

Sam approached you and opened his freakishly long arms, and before you realized what was happening, he had wrapped them around you in a hug, pulling you up against him and smearing green paint all over you, as well.

“Ugh, come on,” you said as your face was smashed into his chest.

“I'm just so proud of you,” Sam said dramatically as he released you, pretending to wipe happy tears from his eyes. Little shit knew exactly what he was doing. You could feel the sticky wet paint on your cheek as you gripped the bottom corner of his flannel and attempted to wipe it off. Sam watched you in mild disbelief. “Hey! What do you think I am? A walking paper-towel?”

You blinked up at him. “Yeah, actually. Tall, dark, flannel-clad … you could pass for the Brawny man.”

Dean chuckled at that and stepped closer, taking your face in his hands and wiping away another bit of paint near your chin with his thumb. He gazed at you proudly. “You did good, Doc.”

“Thank you,” you said as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tight.

Dean pulled back to look at you and his smile reached his eyes as he watched you for a heartbeat. Then he released you and clapped his hands together once loudly, saying, “Celebratory pie, it is.”

Dean led the way to the mess hall. Sam draped his arm around your shoulders and walked with you as you followed, poking him playfully in the ribs as you teased him about kicking his ass. You took a seat at the table while Dean retrieved the pie from the fridge and brought it over, along with plates, forks and napkins.

“You got my favorite kind,” you observed as Dean set the pie on the center of the table and sat down next to you. “It’s almost like you knew I was going to win tonight.” Sam pulled a face at you from across the table like a ten-year-old while Dean proceeded to cut the pie and dish all of you out a piece. “I have to ask,” you said as you gestured to the now headless vampire cardboard cutout standing nearby. “Who’s idea was this?”

“That was all Sammy,” Dean said, grinning mischievously.

“Nice try,” Sam countered. “The only thing I'm guilty of is being nice enough to pick up the stuff you ordered at the party store.” Dean was smiling like a gorgeous idiot as he chewed a bite of pie. “Seriously,” Sam added, looking at you. “I had no idea what I was getting into. You should have seen the lady’s face at the party store.”

Dean snickered, jerking a thumb toward his brother. “She thinks he's Team Edward.” You had to bite back a laugh at that to keep from choking on your own pie. Dean was inspecting the somewhat jagged line where you'd cut the fictional vampire's head off with your knife. “By the looks of this, Doc, I’d wager you’re Team Jacob.”

You pointed over your shoulder toward the library and said, “Actually, I killed a werewolf fifteen yards back. Besides, you know I'm Team Winchester.”

Dean grinned at you as he swallowed a bite of pie.“That reminds me,” he said to Sam. “Why don't you grab the other stuff?”

“Good call,” Sam said as he got to his feet. You watched in amusement as he went to a cupboard and pulled out three little boxes, followed by a larger box. He carried them back to the table and set them near you. You gazed at him curiously, eyes flitting to Dean and back before Sam said. “Just open ‘em.”

“Should I be nervous?,” you said with a laugh, setting your fork down to pick up the larger box. The lid slipped off easily to reveal a slightly smaller box of chocolates inside.

“You guys got me chocolate?” you said, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’ve earned it,” Sam said.

Dean nodded in agreement, scooping another bite of pie into his mouth.

“I hardly think winning a paintball fight warrants prizes or gifts,” you said, smiling. “And I did win,” you added, in response to the rebuttal you could tell was on Sam’s tongue. Sam blinked at you, feigning insult at your calling him out, but he was smiling. “Thank you,” you told them both. “A girl can always use a little chocolate in her life.”

“That’s - that’s not …just keep going,” Dean prompted, gesturing with a nod toward the other box.

You chewed your lip as you opened the second box and slid out the little plastic tray inside. It was full of ammo rounds. .40 caliber ammo rounds, to be specific. Perfectly suited to your new handgun you’d been practicing with in the range for hours on end. But that wasn’t all. There were hand-carved sigils in the brass slugs.

“My own Devil’s trap bullets,” you exclaimed fondly. “That’s amazing.”

“There’s more,” Sam said, sliding another one of the boxes closer to you. You opened that one as well, finding Witch-killing bullets inside. The third box held silver bullets, all .40 caliber slugs for your handgun.

“Chocolates and ammo. You guys really do know the way to a girl’s heart,” you said with a smile so wide your face was starting to hurt. “Thank you. I mean it. This is seriously the coolest thing.”

“Well, you’re gonna need ‘em,” Sam declared. “Can’t have you hunting without the proper tools now, can we?”

The little raise of his eyebrow at the end of the sentence is what did it. It could have passed for a casual statement, if not for that little eyebrow crook.

“Wait … does this mean? Am I …”

“Going with us on the next case?” Sam finished for you. “Hell yes.” His smile reached his eyes as he watched your face for a reaction. “You’re ready. You’ve put in the work, busted your ass, and you’re ready.”

A victorious laugh burst out of you, and you turned your head to look at Dean. If you were being completely honest with yourself you were a little afraid of what you might find behind those green eyes of his.

_Doubt? Fear? Regret?_

But his mouth was hitched up in a half smile that was warm and genuine. He looked you in the eyes and gave you a little nod of approval. And that little nod, and that smile of his meant absolutely the world to you.

You threw your arms around his neck in response. He held you tight, patting your back with a hand until you pulled back and jumped up out of your seat. You moved around the table, draping your arms around Sam’s neck from behind and hugging him, too.

Sam chuckled, reaching up to pat your arm affectionately. “Not gonna make me tap out, are ya Spider Monkey?” he teased.

“Not tonight, Brawny. Not tonight.” You relaxed your grip and pressed a kiss to Sam’s cheek before releasing him and straightening. You sat back down next to Dean, picking up your fork and gathering another bite of celebratory pie onto it.

You didn’t miss the little exchange between the brothers, the little meaningful glaces they shot to each other that were laced with something like amusement and pride.

“So, tonight,” you said slowly after swallowing a bite of pie. “This was like a - a test or what?”

“Not exactly,” Sam said.

“Tonight was strictly for entertainment purposes, sweetheart,” Dean added. “Just thought you needed a chance to kick Sammy’s ass after all the punishment this last while.”

You couldn't help but notice Dean turned down a second helping of pie, and you hoped that meant he intended to keep his promise of pie and a little man handling as a reward. When Sam said goodnight and headed down the hall to turn in, you glanced over at Dean who was still sitting at the table next to you.

He was watching you intently, and there was something new glinting in those green eyes of his. You couldn’t quite place it. Or maybe you were just reading too much into it, because you felt different suddenly. Something about knowing you were finally going to hunt made you feel … what exactly?

Not necessarily older. You were a grown woman, after all. You were a doctor. You were used to life and death situations, and having people's lives in your hands. And yet there was still a new level of responsibility settling in on your shoulders. You guessed that was only fitting. It would help keep you focused and sharp. You welcomed it. Relished it, even.

You held your hand out to Dean and he took it, his eyes never leaving you as you rose to your feet and pulled him up as well. His hands naturally fell to your waist and you leaned in, raising up on your toes to brush his lips with yours. The kiss was soft, sweet, and carried a little of that mystery you'd seen glinting in his eyes. When you parted just enough to breath, Dean rested his forehead against yours.

You smiled softly at him. “Are you going to make good on your promise and give me the rest of my reward, Winchester?”

“Only if that's what you want, sweetheart.”

You nodded in response, taking his hand. A few moments later you were both shedding your clothes and Dean was crawling across your bed to reach you.

Dean held you close on top of the sheets as you made love, watching your face and gauging your reactions. It was incredible how he could read every hitch in your breathing, every earnest whimper that fell from your lips as he moved inside of you. Being with him like this was all-consuming, thrilling, and you surrendered completely. You didn’t speak. You didn’t rush, enjoying the intimacy of the act itself.

You clung to Dean, gripping his shoulder, then his side, fingers falling into place in the spaces in his ribcage. You felt his chest expand with a sharp breath when he hit a new angle, and again every time you clenched down around the length of him with your center in an attempt to draw him further inside of you because you simply couldn’t get enough of him.

Couldn’t get enough of the feeling of being one with him. Enough of having him close enough to breath him in like this. Of feeling his heartbeat race with yours as his plunging in and out of you coaxed you to the edge and sent you soaring over it.

A soft moan fell from your lips and you shuddered with pleasure, hips rolling with the surges as they rocked you, swelling and ebbing. Dean held you, searching your eyes as he continued to slowly pump in and out of you with controlled restraint.

You bit your bottom lip and gazed back at him, feeling like your very soul was bare for him to see in that moment, and knowing you wouldn’t have it any other way. When Dean’s own release came a few moments later, you held his head to your chest as his muscles bunched and curled with the force of it.

Afterward the two of you lay there, Dean’s ear to your heart, waiting for your breathing to level out together in perfectly contented silence. After a long moment Dean stretched out next to you and you snuggled up to his chest like always. He was warm and comfy and you felt your eyes growing heavy as blissful exhaustion set in.

“It's okay to sleep now, sweetheart,” Dean said softly, his fingers brushing over your hair lightly. He was only half-teasing you, and you grinned at the sincere comment, laced in smart-assery like only Dean Winchester can do.

“You sure about that?” you returned.

“Excitement's over now. I’d offer to go for round two of you didn't have such a big day tomorrow.”

That comment sure as hell piqued your interest and you sat up far enough to gaze at him. “Big day? What, looking for a case?”

“I'm sure we can do that, too, later,” Dean said slowly, “but first Sam and I are taking you to get inked.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like Sam and Dean Winchester to distract you from the pain of getting a tattoo.

“Your girl here is a rockstar,” Shea, the owner and tattoo artist at Distynkt Ink said to Dean as she worked.

“You have no idea,” Dean said proudly, winking at you. He was sitting next to you on the left, resting a supportive hand on your knee.

Sam had a better angled view of your tattoo from where he was sitting, and he glanced up from the photo book in his lap every few minutes to check the progress, giving you the occasional reassuring thumbs-up.

You were lying on your left side, holding Dean's button up flannel to your chest to keep you covered, and doing your best to keep your breathing slightly shallow, steady and predictable to give Shea the most stable work surface along your rib cage. The two of you had fallen into a rhythm that seemed to work well, and she paused just often enough to give you breaks that allowed you to breathe deeper and keep you comfortable as she worked.

The sensation was a sharp, intense vibration and buzzing, coupled with the pain that comes from having your skin repeatedly pricked at high speeds.

You did your best to go to your happy place, and having two of the biggest elements of your happy place right there supporting you made the whole process easier to bare.

“Only two more of these flames along the top here and we'll be done,” Shea said. “These are flames, right? On the border? They look like flames….”

Shea glanced over at Dean and he shrugged, offering up only a “Sure,” in response.

“Well, they're either flames or not, so which is it, boy toy?” she pressed, crooking an eyebrow as she leaned in toward you again. “There's got to be some significance to this design, otherwise the romantic gesture of the matching tattoos doesn't make a lot of sense.”

You wondered now if Dean regretted showing Shea his own tattoo as an example. She'd snapped a picture of it on her phone for reference before she’d set to work on yours. You didn't jump in with an excuse or an answer to her question, keeping your movement to a minimum while she had the needle to your skin.

“Actually,” Sam began before Dean could come up with a valid answer. “I have one, too.” He didn't offer further explanation, and Shea lifted the needle from your skin long enough to gaze over at Sam doubtfully.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, eyeing him.

Sam’s expression was almost smug as he sat the photo album he'd been browsing down. He unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his shirt, tugging the material to the side to reveal the anti-possession symbol on his chest.

Shea’s eyes grew wide and she turned her gaze on you in disbelief. She glanced at Dean again and then back to you, clicking her tongue. Her expression suggested she was impressed. “Damn, girl. I don't know what you did to earn a place in the middle of this beefcake sandwich, but help a girl out and dish out some tips.”

You bit back a laugh, chewing your lip.

Now Dean's expression was the one drawing your attention. It quickly changed from an almost embarrassed/flattered look, to a straight up bitch face that he threw in his brother's direction for setting him up. Sam just smiled in amusement, casually flipping through the pages of the tattoo design album again.

She sat back to inspect the design once she’d finished. “Take a deep breath, girl. It's over. Looks good, if I do say so myself,” she mused, watching you as you clutched Dean’s flannel to your chest and got to your feet.

Dean came around to see for himself, nodding his approval. “Looks damn good.”

Shea pointed across the parlor to a full sized mirror and you moved toward it, angling your body so you could gaze at the design. There was something visceral about having the symbol permanently etched into your skin. The design may have had a very practical function, but to you it was more than that. It was representative of your transformation. Your new life. Your new family. Your future.

A smile was playing on your lips as Dean came to stand next to you. “God, it’s so damn sexy,” he observed.

“It’s demon warding,” you said in hushed tones.

“Doesn’t matter,” he argued. “All tattoos are sexy. And you … sweetheart, you make even a Keep Out sign look good.” You grinned at him, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “How's it feel?” he asked. Dean knew that, despite your brave front, your nerves had to be feeling red-hot and raw.

“Exactly like I expected it to,” you told him.

“Hurts like a son of a bitch?”

“That's one way of putting it.” You forced a smile for him and he gave a little understanding nod.

Shea waved you back over to the table then, double-checking with you that you were satisfied with her work.

“It’s perfect,” you assured her. “It’s exactly I wanted.”

“Well, thanks for making my job easy,” she returned. “Not everyone can grit their teeth and hold still like you did.”

Shea had you take a seat again. She put a thin coating of tattoo jelly over the area and carefully placed a bandage over the area to keep it clean and protected.

“Here,” Dean said as he watched you internally debate about how to best get your shirt back on. “That tight t-shirt you wore here isn't going to feel very good going back on right now, much as I like to see you in it. Wear my button up instead.”

He gestured with a nod toward the plaid shirt of his you'd been holding to your chest to keep yourself covered during the process.

“You sure?”

Dean nodded. “Course I am. C’mere.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close up against his body. Then he slid the plaid shirt from between you, keeping you covered against his chest as he wrapped the shirt around you from behind. He helped you slip your arms in one and at a time, and you buttoned it up quickly while he blocked you from the rest of the room with his body. You were at once grateful for the extra room between your skin and the shirt’s fabric due to the loose fit.

“Thank you,” you told him, raising up on your toes to give him a quick kiss.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

You paid Shea and she went over the aftercare with you, handing you a sheet of instructions to follow. You were turning to go when she stopped you, saying, “If you ever decide you might want to make this a foursome, call me.” She playfully gestured with a finger back and forth between you and Dean and Sam.

Sam grinned at her and said, “We're in a band. The tattoos are band tattoos. Nothing more, I swear. These two here are inseparable, but the three of us are not in a - I, uh … I was just messing with you.

“Ah,” Shea said slowly, watching Sam with new intrigue. “That's too bad, actually. I sort of liked the possibilities…. But hey,” she took a few steps in Sam's direction, reaching out to touch his arm. Sam's eyes widened slightly and he smiled, almost embarrassed. “That doesn't mean you and I can't have a little fun,” she mused.

You and Dean watched, wide-eyed, while Shea lifted Sam's hand to inspect it. She dragged two fingers from his wrist down across his palm slowly and then up the length of his long finger. “Your hands are so … strong.”

You lightly elbowed Dean in the ribs, prompting him to take the slack out of his jaw.

Sam only cleared his throat, apparently speechless. Shea kept hold of his hand with one of hers, pulling a pen from her back pocket with the other. She proceeded to write her phone number on Sam's hand. “Call me,” she said. Sam still hasn't found his voice, but he smiled giving her a little nod.

You thanked Shea again as the three of you left the parlor. You hadn't even made it inside the car before Dean was muttering to himself “Sheamuel….”

“Sh- _what_? What the hell are you talking about?” Sam huffed.

“Your couple name,” Dean clarified with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh God, could you please just not?”

“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy,” Dean argued. “Unless … ” Dean ignored Sam's bitch face, adding, “Unless you want us to leave you here and pick you up in, oh, I don't know … say an hour? That should be plenty of time to get off. Hell, maybe more than once-”

“Drive,” Sam stated, glaring daggers at his brother with his eyes. You bit back a laugh from the passenger seat and smiled apologetically at Sam over your shoulder. “Come on. Not you, too.”

“Sorry,” you offered half-heartedly, unable to wipe the grin from your face.

“Traitor,” Sam muttered, but you caught the smile in his tone as Dean put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space.

You squirmed around on the seat as he drove, unable to get comfortable. You couldn't lean back without resting the tattoo against the leather seat which put pressure on the skin.

“Okay there, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his eyes flitting back and forth between the road and you.

“Just can't figure out how to sit,” you said, hating that your voice sounded whinier than you intended.

Dean patted his lap with a hand. “Scootch on over here and lay your head down.”

You did as he suggested, laying your cheek on his thigh. The warm denim of his jeans was a stark contrast to the Impala's cool leather seats. And the position didn't put any pressure on your right ribs or back, alleviating a good portion of the pain.

“Better?” Dean asked, glancing down and seeing the soft smile playing on your lips.

“Mmm-hmmm.… Much.”

You reached out with a hand to turn the stereo up and the three of you enjoyed some Bob Seger.

“I've got it,” Dean announced suddenly, startling you almost two and a half songs later. “Sheammy!”

You burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at that, knowing Sam may never forgive you for it.

Dean smacked your backside lightly. “Huh? Am I right?”

You glanced up at the goofy grin on his face which only made you laugh harder.

“You're such a dick,” Sam said. “You’re insufferable, you know that? It's - it's like you were stunted at thirteen.”

Dean just grinned at you, obviously pleased with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think is the end of Act III, but not the end of the saga. The story continues with Act 3.5 (a.k.a. the Act III Epilogue.)


End file.
